


Sinner/Saint

by thenewlondoner (muleumpyo)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8844811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muleumpyo/pseuds/thenewlondoner
Summary: When Credence woke after everything that happened, he didn't expect anyone to care that he was still alive, let alone want to help him.Instead, he found both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very MINOR divergence from canon. Basically, it adheres to canon right up until Grindelwald is apprehended by MACUSA but not the events afterwards.
> 
> I just wanted to note that there's going to very brief mentions of past (canonical) abuse by Mary Lou and Grindelwald as Graves, but nothing in detail. Um... anyways, Credence is precious and should always be protected! Happiness is definitely in his future. 
> 
> Thank you, Jess, for being so amazing and helpful in reading this whole thing and encouraging me to post this, even though you still haven't seen the film... /side eyes/ <3

_The man has a smile like a pale afternoon_

_And holds in his hand an improbable moon_

_A grave, a cry, an invisible loom_

_That weaves what’s left_

_When you’ve gone too soon_

 

from _Shade, the Changing Girl_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He woke with no idea where he was. The sky was awash with the indigo and purple of the forming night, dotted with white stars and watched over by a slim moon rising in the eastern sky. Night spread its velvety darkness over him as he blinked, slowly, and it all seemed different a moment later.

 

The sky now burned with a midday gold above him, devoid of clouds, everything a sharp, deep blue. He had slept in between those moments, had lost time. It was so clear it seemed unreal, a fake sky hung like a painting over him.

 

He had no idea who he was. For long, stretched-out minutes he existed just as a body without a name, a person without any past. Memories flitted around him like dark moths to a flame, touching his face softly and alighting again soundlessly. They kissed his brow with their light feet, brushing over his cheeks, his fingers, the slow beat of his heart, too fast to impart anything but incomplete emotions.

 

He was alone under this untouched sky. Perhaps it was heaven, lying calmly under this eggshell blue sky after having lost everything that made you yourself. There were no promised saints, none of the choir of angels or the encompassing embrace of Saint Peter, just this ignorance, this preternatural calm.

 

From what felt like afar, a whisper reached him.

 

_Credence..._

 

He tried to turn his head towards the sound, but found he could not. His body was so weak he was surprised he was still alive and that he had not perished from the effort it took simply to breathe. Like an extinguished light, he could imagine whatever was left of his soul disappearing easily under the heavy hand of death, lost forever beneath that endless night. All of his limbs felt empty and he knew he would have had no strength to fight for it.

 

But he knew he had a name, Credence, and it made him feel human. He was more than just a body existing somewhere unknown, not just a soul without a tether.

 

 _Credence, you are still alive. A miracle… a miracle…_ the voices whispered, closer now, and the dark shapes drifting around him began to close in further, blocking out the sun and spreading shadows over his eyes.

 

A dark-footed memory landed on his cheek with a quiet sound and he inhaled sharply. Credence remembered the subway, the waves of crushing darkness that had seemed to tear out of him from that hidden, shameful place and how they had filled the room to the brim with his seething anger. How he had wanted to hurt everyone there, get them to leave him alone, stop hurting him. He remembered the hot fear that choked his throat and came out of him in something uncontrollable that was too fearful to be anything like magic. It had hunted out all of the people in the room, ignoring their faint cries as they tried to help him or begged for mercy, soulless, merciless.

 

He let out a strangled cry, the sound surprising even him as the memory disappeared underneath his skin in a flush of warmth. He heaved in a terrified breath, body rattled by the remembrance. The sky above him burned on in sharp, uninterrupted blue, still as death.

 

Another memory landed on him, its soft feet resting on his brow. He thought of the woman who no longer called herself his mother, who had watched him with a hard gaze that held no love as she stood before him in those last moments. Her eyes held the promise of punishment and her hands were full of the leather of his own belt, holding it tight in readiness. The fear and the anger that had gripped him as her mouth twisted around the words, _unnatural, disgusting_. And he remembered now the black-winged monster that had flown out of him and attacked, had stopped her.

 

She had finally laid at his feet, Mary Lou, finally silenced, and himself finally freed of her. They were all empty of soft emotions like compassion, she had made sure of it, those adopted children of hers, those captured disciples. There was no sympathy for her death in him, only the pain of failure he had not expected to feel. She was right, her last words echoing in his ears, howling through him in the darkness that consumed him. _Sinner! devil’s child! disobedient Credence!_ he could not mourn for her and she would not want him to.

 

His breaths coming fast, Credence closed his eyes just as another memory landed on his throat. The filthy red brick of the alley behind the corrugated metal church filled his vision as the putrid stench of the trash and animal waste came sharply back. Warm hands pressed over his cheeks and he could feel on his lips the breath of that man, Graves, as he was pulled in close.

 

In the cold of the November night, he could feel Graves’ warmth in a line up his body, and all he wanted to do was bury himself in his arms where Graves promised he could be safe. Their foreheads touched softly. Their lips were only inches apart, like a promise that hid a threat. Shameful desire twisted in his stomach at the intent look that Graves gave him, a look full of a want he hadn't deserved, could never possibly deserve. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he kept himself from crossing that line.

 

Now he knew the truth: Graves had felt nothing. All he had done and said was calculated to manipulate him.

 

How had he imagined he could be needed like that, him being a _freak, evil sorcerer, dangerous?_ No one had ever wanted him. It was arrogant to have expected any different, when it was so clear now that all he had carried in him was nothing like magic he had always imagined, beautiful and transforming. All he had was evil, corrupted by his sins, a dangerous curse carried in his blood.

 

His eyes flashed open to see another black wisp of memory touch down on his chest, right above his heart. Mind clearer now, he recognized it for what it was. It was the same darkness that had poured out of him at the subway, the explosive power he thought had ripped through him and left him for dead.

 

“No…” he whispered at the sight of it, its dark body coiled like an animal ready to strike. But it did not appear to listen.

 

It was not just a memory that tore through him this time, but a pain so unimaginable it felt like his heart was being ripped apart in his chest. He must have cried out but he couldn't hear it, too wrapped up in the pain.

 

 _Yes, yes, Credence… remember… live again,_ the swirling mass of memories whispered to him, borne by a quiet wind.

 

The other wisps of dark power drifting around him suddenly dove towards him and speared into him as violently as they had been borne into the world. Uselessly, he writhed on the ground as the rest of his life began to come back to him in increasingly quick flashes, and then all at once.

 

The empty streets of New York. His mother's hollow eyes as she lay dying in her bed. The soreness in his knees as he knelt in the pews of the church, not knowing what he was asking for but knowing it was something, something _important_. Handing out leaflets in the rain, his hands cold and cracked in the snow, people throwing the papers back in his face more often than they took them. Unbuckling his belt and feeling the leather pass through his hands to Mary Lou’s because he had failed again. The pain. Always the pain.

 

And his quickening heartbeat as a man came to him and spoke softly to him, told him he didn't need to hide what he was, like he knew. As if he saw what Credence wanted and yet didn't look away. The man promised so many things, the memory of his low, calm voice what Credence clung to in the night. He promised that soon he would be free of all of this, and he was kind like no one else, his touch healing. Credence had never been touched like that before and he wanted, he wanted, he _wanted_.

 

And the terrifying power that had filled his veins, made his hands tremble as he watched the pot of soup for the children topple over, Mary Lou yelling, just wanting her to go away but it just made it all worse, made her more angry and it was all his fault even if he hadn't done a thing. And he was scared, so scared, knowing things were happening around him that he couldn't truly control. Buildings were breaking down with no explanation, people were dying, the careful edges of the world he could understand beginning to fray, but it would be alright because soon Graves would take him away and he'd be among people who knew him and whose eyes weren't filled with disgust or anger when they looked at him.

 

He just had to find the child Graves was looking for, the one who didn't exist because it turned out that it was him; that power twisted up deeply inside him was the magic Graves wanted, straining against his willpower that kept it contained so he could remain safe. The elation that he was special being swallowed by utter fear at it all twisting up inside him, being corrupted by his thoughts he tried not to think, the sinful desire he tried not to feel.

 

And that last moment of betrayal, Graves’ sharp hand on his face and the truth: he thought Credence just as worthless as the rest.

 

He didn't want to remember, but he did, he did.

 

Tears poured hotly over his face and he sucked in great gulps of air, his skin aflame as if he was filled with fever. Slowly, agonizingly, he came back to himself. He felt as though he had remembered every moment of his life and relived every hurt at once. The calm that had settled over him when he had first awoken had dissipated, to be replaced by an overwhelming ache.

 

The pain gave Credence enough energy to sit up, though his arms shook and he felt weak enough to lie down again forever. He had to remind himself that, despite everything, he had not perished.

 

However, it was clear that neither had he been released from whatever evil he bore in his blood. The darkness that had escaped him had been pulled inevitably back inside where it curled itself around his heart, bed companions yet again. He was left alone under the burning sky with no one left in the world for him.  

 

Suddenly, he was cold and wet, and realized he had been lying in a puddle. Credence looked around, barely conscious, and saw he was sitting on the roof of an apartment building. Lines of drying laundry hung around him in huge white sheets fluttering in the light breeze and large buckets collecting rainwater littered the corners of the tarred roof. From far away, he could hear the chatter of people down below on the street, the paper boys yelling and the faraway foghorn of a steamer on the Hudson.

 

He wanted to laugh but was so weak he could just barely grin. The scene around him was so ordinary that, after everything he had experienced, it seemed ridiculous. How people could be living their regular lives without realizing something extraordinary had just happened? How could everyone just continue on as though nothing had changed?

 

Credence pulled himself to his feet. He had to lean heavily on the wall rimming the edge of the roof to make his way towards the stairs, still too weak to trust himself to stand. Resting for a few moments on the edge of the wall, he could still hardly believe he was alive. This was not a dream, though he wasn't sure how happy he was about that.

 

On the street below, he could see the crowds of people filling the sidewalks. They walked along, their voices echoing up between the buildings and weaving in with the sounds of the streetcars winding their way through the crowds, bells ringing.

 

For a moment he thought about it, looking down at the street so far below, but he shook his head weakly. Not now.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Mr. Grindelwald, why are you in America?” Auror O'Shaughnessy asked again, leaning forward across the slim table and waiting expectantly, his thick fingers beating out a slow pattern on the metal. His heavyset, dark brows shadowed his eyes and gave him the constant impression of glaring at whoever he was speaking to, a quality that made him an asset to the MACUSA’s interrogation squad, though he spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent that occasionally made it hard for his victims to understand. “What is it you planned to do in New York?”

 

Grindelwald did not reply, his thin mouth pressed into a line that drew deep furrows on either side of his cheeks and gave him the impression of considerable gravity. His cold eyes revealed nothing.

 

It had been that way for hours, his expression never changing no matter how they challenged him; he hardly seemed to breathe. He had not asked to go to the restroom, had not tried to escape, did not ask for food or water, just watched with a hard gaze the Aurors that came in to interrogate or gape at him. His angular, enigmatic face showed such a lack of fear he seemed not to have ever felt it.

 

“We have you on charges of espionage, intention to cause public disruption, breaking the International Statute of Secrecy, the impersonation and possible attempted murder of a MACUSA official…” Auror O'Shaughnessy trailed off as if the list were too extensive to bother reading in full.

 

“And that's not even including the charges you're undoubtedly wanted on by the Ministry of Magic in London, or the l’Assemble Magique de France, and the Reichst…” he seemed unable to pronounce the last one, but coughed and continued on, “uh, the government in Germany, which I happen to know have been following you around for years and would be very happy to have you in custody at last. You're a very wanted man, Mr. Grindelwald.”

 

The silence stretched between them in the small room, long moments spinning away without a response. Grindelwald blinked, slowly, his pale lashes shielding his dark eyes from view for a moment, but otherwise he didn't react. Their captive seemed entirely too comfortable for an interrogation, as if he were simply in a restaurant waiting for his dinner order to arrive.

 

“I don't think you understand your position,” Agent Spade spoke finally, pushing off from where she had been leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, as she watched the interrogation.

 

She walked slowly across the room towards Grindelwald, her every step punctuated by a sharp tap of her heeled foot that echoed around the concrete room. In comparison, when she spoke her voice was liquidly soft, almost personal.

 

“There's very little we don't know, now, about what you did with your time in New York, including the meetings with the President. The information you gathered from the Cabinet meetings, the conversations you had with Aurors, Directors of Departments, even the MACUSA elves and the No-Maj police… Those are easy things to trace. Everything that you have learned from those meetings is now being reassessed and will be made useless.”

 

Grindelwald stared at the far wall, his dark eyes almost unfathomable in the severe shadows thrown by the light. The sculptural cut of his face made him appear as though he were a Roman god trapped angrily in stone, and in the harsh halogen light hanging from above, his thick blond hair glowed like an angel’s.

 

Spade rounded the table, her eyes trained on Grindelwald’s face. When she spoke next, she was behind Grindelwald, and her voice was pitched so low only he could hear it. “We could keep you indefinitely on the charges related to Mr. Graves alone. We don't need your confession to charge you with those crimes and set you before the Salem Supreme Court. You can keep quiet as much as you like and we could still execute you immediately.”

 

She paused for significant effect, letting the silence drag long in all the possibilities that imminent death could draw to mind. “I'm sure the magical community in Europe would be most thrilled to learn about your death.”

 

Agent O'Shaughnessy shifted almost uncomfortably in his chair at the words. He tried to cover it by leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, frowning, but his expression never settled.

 

Silence followed Spade’s remarks, the only sound in the room being her deliberate footsteps as she circled around Grindelwald and came to stand next to him, her hand on the back of his chair. She leaned down to speak directly in his ear, her voice soft.

 

“We're just curious about your time with the boy Obscurial… Credence, I believe his name was.”

 

Grindelwald’s gaze flicked up to Agent Spade’s face for such a brief moment it seemed almost an illusion, his expression immediately settling back into blankness. To the two investigators, however, it was telling, that tiny break far more than he had done in hours.

 

“Ah, yes,” Agent Spade said, satisfied by the brief disruption of his composure but trying not to let it show. “Credence Barebone. The first Obscurial that has been known to exist for almost 200 years. And such a powerful one at that.”

 

“Is he the reason you came to New York?” Agent O'Shaughnessy asked roughly, excited by this change, his dark eyes staring straight at Grindelwald. Spade shook her head minutely behind Grindelwald but it was too late.

 

Grindelwald’s face closed off again more completely than before, his dark eyes seeming to shutter with an incomprehensible emotion. Spade frowned at O'Shaughnessy, clearly irritated at the interruption. Silence fell again in the small room, thick and uncomfortable.

 

Spade walked with slow steps, her fingers tapping on her chin as she thought. She ignored Grindelwald completely as she did several turns of the room, her footsteps marking her path with sharp, reverberating sounds. Not wanting to interrupt, O'Shaughnessy remained silent, staring intimidatingly at Grindelwald.

 

At length, Spade spoke again, as if to herself. “Yes, an Obscurial the likes of which the world has never seen. So powerful it destroyed several streets and half a subway station and nearly revealed us to the No-Majs… incredible, simply incredible power. And the boy was almost 25 years old. The longest I've ever heard of an Obscurial surviving by more than a decade. He must have been extremely powerful and very well controlled to have lasted as long as he had.”

 

Spade came to a stop next to the table and perched on its edge, her shoulders drawn in a sharp line by the cut of her dark suit as she crossed her arms across her chest. Several long moments passed she watched Grindelwald, considering, before a knifelike smile caught the edges of her lips. This time when she leaned down, her face was on a level with Grindelwald’s and the overhead light threw her half in shadow with the dramatic effect of a _chiaroscuro_ painting.

 

“I know you did not come to America by accident. You knew he was here.”

 

Grindelwald’s eyes seemed to glow for a moment, emphasized by the fall of light on his blond lashes. Nothing changed in Spade’s expression but she caught the brief look with another surge of internal triumph.

 

“Did you think you could control that kind of power? Did you think you could take it from that boy and use it yourself?” she pressed.

 

Something shifted in Grindelwald’s expression, destructive and yet dynamic, like a seismic force had interrupted him unexpectedly from inside. It was an odd effect on such a blank face, an inadvertent admission by its mere existence. Grindelwald did not reply, though the answer now seemed fairly obvious. Spade watched him closely for another moment before leaning back. Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, there was a sharp rap on the door.

 

As Auror O'Shaughnessy rose and went to see who it was, Spade tilted her head and looked at Grindelwald with unexpected pity. “You're a fool,” she murmured. “That boy would never have survived, nor would his power. You got yourself caught for nothing.”

 

She looked up at her partner as O'Shaughnessy crossed back across the room and so missed the quick, electric flash of fury that passed over Grindelwald’s face. When she turned back to him, a small glass vial in her hand, he seemed the as impassive as he ever had.

 

“Well, let's find out the truth, shall we?” she said.

 

O'Shaughnessy grasped Grindelwald’s chin and tilted his head back with a rough movement, forcing his mouth open.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

When Credence finally made it to the remains of his once-home, it was nearly evening, the sun at the horizon bleeding red into the violet sky. Even from the outside he could see the lingering damage he had wrought on the church. The windows were smashed out and the roof had caved in on one side, giving the building a lopsided appearance, as if it needed to lean on one of its taller neighbors for support. It had never looked very nice before, but now it looked like a wreck, abandoned by everything except the rats.

 

Credence picked his way through the debris scattered in the yard towards the front. He had to shove a sign that had hung near the entrance out of the way for it had fallen across the door, blocking it. The sign clattered to the ground and he could still read SECOND SALEM CHURCH emblazoned across it, the bold black letters untouched by the destruction of the church itself. He had a strange urge to kick it.

 

Instead, he went inside. The air was cool and felt oddly untouched from the last time he had been there, as if it were still partially alive with some strange echo of the events that had unfolded. For a moment he paused in the doorway as if arrested by this unseen force, heartbeat high in his ears.

 

A cold sense of dread slipped down his spine as he walked through the wreckage of the church. In the partial dark, the familiar walls loomed over him, twisting into new shapes that he didn’t recognize and made him uneasy. Every footstep made a different sound than before, and he looked around, feeling as though he were being followed.

 

The whole place seemed to speak to him in low whispers, _you shouldn’t be here, you need to leave, boy, this is no place for someone like you, a sinner and a murderer, get out get out get out--_

 

Stepping carefully over a tipped-over pew, he came at last to where he had last seen her, her body empty and face grey like ash from where they had touched. It felt as though his whole body was covered in a very light sheen of cool sweat as anxiety twisted his stomach. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see her body.

 

But Mary Lou wasn't there, the place where she had died now empty and oddly clean.

 

He stared at the bare wooden floor, and something like disappointment or relief washed through him. Though they had left the rest of the church in tatters, pews in pieces on the floor and the rafters creaking uneasily under the weight of the roof, someone had obviously come in and taken her body away. He couldn’t guess who would bother doing such a thing.

 

“Modesty?” he called in a quiet voice, unused to raising his voice in the church, or at all. Mary Lou never would have allowed it.

 

 _She's dead,_ he reminded himself, and thinking it for the first time gave him a chill.

 

“Chastity, are you there?” he called again as he turned around, his voice louder this time. He flinched as his voice filled the room, as if still expecting a sharp reproach.

 

No one replied, the church empty and quiet but for the whispers that were too faint to make out. When he went upstairs into their old bedrooms, he was unsurprised to find them all empty. He realized for the first time: he truly was alone. They had all gone, one way or another, and the thought left him feeling hollowed out. His sisters had all disappeared, what little family he still had gone as though they had never existed. He was the only one left.

 

Unsure of what to do and exhausted, Credence curled up on his old bed and buried his face in the thin woolen blanket. It smelled the same as it always had, faintly musty and full of the smell of his own skin. Slight comfort though it was, it eased his heart and he sighed, feeling the tension bleed out of his body. Not everything had changed. Not everything had been destroyed.

 

Fingers curled up to his face like a child’s, he fell into an uneasy sleep there on his old bed, his shoes still on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“ _Alohomora_.”

 

The two Aurors waited for the click of the lock, but when it never came, Robinson reached out and tried the handle.

 

“It’s locked.”

 

Dobson grumbled, looking irritated, “Let’s just blow the door.”

 

Robinson grinned and raised his wand. “Alright. Ready?” he asked, crouching slightly as if preparing to trade punches with an opponent.

 

Dobson raised his wand as well and pointed it squarely at the door this time, his expression back to its regular sombre self. “I have no idea why they put us onto this. I don’t want anyone giving me an earful if some of his swanky things get all smashed up.”

 

Robinson just shrugged. “The rest of thems is out there, watching to see if the No-Majs remember anything. They don’t have anyone else. Besides, we’re Aurors, just like them.” When Dobson kept looking unimpressed, he continued in a more encouraging tone, “Bet no one’s even home to get mad. It’ll be a quick in and out, and you can _reparo_ anything you smash up.”

 

Sighing, Dobson straightened his shoulders and glared at the door again. “Alright, I’m ready.”

 

“Good. One… two… three!”

 

In a practiced motion, Dobson whipped his wand at the door just as Robinson threw up a shield charm. With a deafening noise of cracking wood and tearing metal, the door exploded off its hinges and went tumbling into the darkened house. At almost the exact same moment, a monumental force slammed into the two Aurors. Despite the shield charm, they were flung high into the air and they went flying backwards into the street as if a bomb had exploded in front of them to land, only partially protected by Dobson’s hastily thrown bouncing charm, on the rubberized asphalt with twin thuds.

 

They both rolled over and sat up, wearing matching expressions of dazed disbelief.

 

After a moment of silence, Robinson spoke. “That was fun.”

 

He moved to stand up but groaned loudly in pain and dropped back onto the asphalt.

 

Dobson shook his head slowly, wincing. However, he stood without complaint and moved over to check his partner’s injuries, tapping the side of Robinson’s face with his wand to heal the road burn he had gotten, and again where he was clutching his back.

 

“You set a silencing charm on the No-Majs’ houses nearby, right?” Robinson asked.

 

Dobson stared at him as if he were insulted, though the look was close enough to his regular expression that no one but Robinson would have known the difference. “Of course.”

 

“That’s one good thing, at least,” Robinson sighed and heaved himself up again without pain.

 

Soundlessly, he restored the street to its regular consistency and the pair of them headed again up the stairs of the towering townhouse. When they stepped through the wrecked entrance and into the darkness, Dobson muttered _vlam_ and a fire started in a nearby grate, darkly illuminating a large sitting room, its floor-to-ceiling doors sitting half-open.

 

“ _Homenum revelio_ ,” Dobson said and a moment later, a single low whistle replied. He looked over at Robinson, who nodded, grim-faced, and raised his wand. A silvery-white spell arrowed through the front window and disappeared.

 

They walked through the living room, weaving around dark wood furniture cut expensively with navy blue brocade and stopped at the same time to look up at several heavily framed oil paintings, the wallpaper behind shining very slightly with an ornate pattern of greens and golds.

 

Robinson looked over at Dobson and raised his eyebrows. Dobson gave him a droll look.

 

They moved from the empty sitting room and through several small parlors, a men's study, and into a formal dining room with a huge table still set with a single place of gold-rimmed plates and cut crystal glasses. As they walked closer, they saw there was still food on the plate, cutlery strewn about. A goblet had been knocked over and red wine had dried in a large stain that spread toward the middle of the white tablecloth.

 

Dobson reached out and touched the stain with a finger. After a moment’s pause, he said in a low voice, “It's dry. Must have been days ago.”

 

Robinson looked around and whispered, “This place gives me the heebie jeebies.” Dobson nodded.

 

They headed up a curved wooden staircase and onto the darkened second floor, where the furnishings became less opulent and more personal. Room after room they entered was empty with their fine furnishings intact and undisturbed. Besides the wine glass downstairs, there seemed to be no evidence of a struggle. Instead of being comforted by this, the stillness of the house lent it an unnaturally calm air that set both of the Aurors’ nerves alight.

 

It was only in the study that there seemed to be traces of life. One of the glass-fronted bookcases stood open, many of its shelves emptied of their usual contents. On the imposing mahogany desk there were books in stacks and several lay open, their pages fluttering in the still room as if calling to someone.

 

“Dobson, look,” Robinson said, pointing at something resting in the fold of a book filled with intricate calculations of alchemical experiments.

 

Dobson rounded the desk and leaned closer. “That's the symbol he carried,” he said in a low breath. He stared at it in fascination and then reached slowly towards it.

 

Robinson caught his wrist before he could touch it. “I don't think that's a good idea. Who knows what he's done with it.”

 

Dobson nodded and stepped back, though he didn't look totally convinced.

 

They headed out of the room and finally came to the last door at the end of the corridor. After a moment of staring at the heavy, dark wood, Robinson sighed and reached to open it. The handle twisted easily in his hand and the door swung inward without a sound.

 

Even before the door had opened fully, they could see odd, pale lights flickering over the opposite wall, illuminating the blue wallpaper with shimmering silver. The effect was as if someone were shining a light from the bottom of a well, the beam refracted by the water and throwing it up against the walls in strange shapes that moved with little discernible pattern.

 

With a nod at each other, they stepped in the room at the same time, shoulder to shoulder, pointing their wands in opposite corners. But there were no intruders or hiding enemies; no hexes fired at them for entering. The room, like the rest of the house, seemed empty.

 

They both relaxed and turned to look at the source of the light.

 

“What in the…” Robinson trailed off, but Dobson didn't respond, caught off guard by the same image.

 

Floating above the bed in the center of the dark room was what appeared to be a long, clear bubble of water filled with elements of darkness and silvery light. The edges of the enchantment rippled as if silent waves were moving slowly through it, but otherwise it hung silently suspended in midair a few feet above the bed. Illuminated softly from within by a eerie light that shifted with its every move, it threw odd shadows on the walls and across the velvet hangings of the four poster bed.

 

Without a discernible source, it seemed as if the spell had been cast by a ghost.

 

The two Aurors stepped closer, wands still raised, to see a form in the depths of its wan light. Held suspended within the clear spell, floating limply on his back with a black dressing gown fallen in waves around him, was a man. Deep circles had darkened the skin underneath his eyes and he looked thinner and weaker than he ever had, his cheeks hollowed out as if he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. Even so, they both recognized him immediately.

 

“Mr. Graves…” Dobson said in a quiet voice, clearly shocked. Robinson just stared in silence.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 _Sorrow found me when I was young_  
_Sorrow waited, sorrow won_  
_Sorrow they put me on the pill_  
_It's in my honey, it's in my milk_

 

 _Sorrow_ \- The National 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The sound made him wake, heart pounding in his ears so loudly he could hardly hear anything else for a few long seconds. Credence lay still quietly as he could, hands tight around his blanket. In the full darkness of, amongst the smells and shadows of his old bedroom, he lost track of himself. For a moment he forgot everything, the time that had passed and the events that had occurred. It was Mary Lou’s footsteps he could hear on the landing outside the door and he was in for another painful punishment.

 

The footsteps neared the door to his room and stopped. A familiar grip of fear twisted coldly around his gut at the thought of the beating that he was sure was going to come. Heart racing, he pushed himself into the far corner of his bed where it met the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest.

 

Long moments passed without a sound from outside the door. Every heartbeat that echoed in Credence’s chest felt like it could stop his breath. She always waited outside before coming in, so he could have time to think of his sins and ask for forgiveness from a god he was sure was not listening. It was a cruel trick, for the forgiveness never came and they were never spared.

 

Instead, he curled into himself and whispered the prayer he always made, “Let it be someone else, let this be nothing but a dream. Please wake up. Wake up.” He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, hope being swallowed by disappointment at the unchanged walls around him.

 

Past and present eclipsed each other like overlapping shadows and he was thrown into darkness. There would be no reprieve this time. He had done something far worse than he ever had before. The specter of a punishment that could match what he had done loomed largely over him, reaching out for him with dark hands.

 

You can stop them, Credence, you can stop her this time, she can’t hurt you like before, remember that-- he told himself, but a primal fear deeper than his thoughts had already gripped him fast. Wisps of dark energy started to escape from his hands where they had tightened on his knees. He watched in horror as the magic started to seep from his skin and color the air around him with inky blackness.

 

“No, no,” he moaned quietly and buried his face into his knees, trying to control that mad, uncontrollable magic. But it was already beginning to spread out of him in waves and he felt like all of the warmth was leaving his body at once. He tried to draw it back into himself, feeling himself hollow in the pit of his stomach as if nothing were left there, his bones just rattling around in an empty body. He could control this, he could, he could , and for a moment he seemed to grasp at its edges, pulling, and the warmth of the magic started to draw back inside of him.

 

“Credence?” a voice from above him asked.

 

His head whipped up and for a moment the image in front of him seemed unreal, like a dream he could not possibly have. A woman stood there in the doorway, a glowing ball of golden light floating in front of her as if held aloft by strings he could not see. It illuminated her in soft warmth, highlighting the curves of a familiar face and the dark wave of her bobbed hair.

 

“Credence… it’s really you? You’re alive?” Tina asked, her voice soft in incredulity and wonder.

 

Credence stared back at her silently, the first witch he had ever seen in real life standing in front of him again and looking at him like she had witnessed a miracle. She was so far from what he had expected that his mind went blank and everything around him stopped. It was as if a plug had been pulled on the darkness seeping from him, and it disappeared quickly under his skin to fill the hollow the shock had echoed through.

 

Eyes roving over her, Credence finally spotted the wand in her hand that was keeping the ball of light aloft. Raw fear bloomed through him anew, a different kind of terror spreading its hot fingers down his spine.

 

Go away go away get away from me you can’t be here with me--

 

She was talking, her words soft and soothing, but he could barely hear them. Credence held himself still, eyes trained on the wand as if keeping it in his sight would keep it from making any more magic. But he couldn’t move or it wouldn’t work, they’d find a reason to attack him so he just needed to stay still. He wondered how he could get away from here, out of this room and to- to where, he had no idea.

 

Tina took a step towards him and he jerked in surprise. Immediately, she took a step back, both hands up and wand held delicately between two fingers. Adrenaline sparked through him like an electrical shock, followed closely by self-reproach. He had lost.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tina said, sounding genuinely worried. A long beat passed in silence between them, but she didn’t move again and he didn’t dare. Her wand pointed harmlessly up towards the ceiling.

 

Hot adrenaline still coursed through him, though the tight knot of fear that had gripped his stomach began to ease its hold. Even in the low light of her magic he could see her dark eyes glistening with something that looked like tears. He wondered if she was afraid of him, so scared she couldn’t help but cry. The thought made him feel sick.

 

Credence pulled his hands close up to his chest and held them together there as though he were able to keep the darkness inside like that.

 

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m just so surprised to see you, here, where…” she trailed off. “I didn’t think you were still… alive.”

 

She smiled and her brow crinkled like she was doing it to hold back tears. “I’m so happy I was wrong.”

 

The words went through him like a hot knife and he could do nothing but stare at her as his mind raced. Suddenly, the fear he had read on her face seemed to dissolve and be replaced by a concern that he couldn’t quite believe was meant for him. The golden orb of light bobbed minutely in the air between them.

 

Credence licked his dry lips. “A-are you here to-to take me away?” he asked, voice shuddering and soft.

 

A tear dropped from one of Tina’s eyes and made a glistening trail down her cheek. He couldn’t tell why she was crying, and it sent a shudder of alarm through him, though it was clear she still tried to smile. “No, no, of course not. Of course I’m not.”

 

“But you were with them, with the people who…” he couldn’t finish the sentence, all of it still too new and painful to voice aloud. Underneath his jacket he could still feel the burn of the painfully white lights they had directed at him, remnants still burned deep into his flesh like a warning of what he truly was. No one was to get too close.

 

“MACUSA,” she said in a quiet voice, and he looked back up at her, uncomprehending. She was watching him with those dark eyes, her expression soft and understanding. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t with them then and I’m not with them now.”

 

For the first time since she had stepped away from him, she moved, hugging herself with her free hand. Her voice was vehement this time and full of an emotion he couldn’t read. “I didn’t want them to do what they did to you. I tried to stop them but I was too late. They never shouldn’t have done that, attacked you like that. You were scared and they… they really shouldn’t have done it. It was cruel of them.”

 

His eyes searched closely over her face, trying to read her expression. There was no trace of fear in her gaze like he knew he deserved. She could have been lying, but he wanted desperately to believe her.

 

The taut fear that had kept him cornered seemed to suddenly slacken, as if loosened by an invisible hand. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to go except for here. And if she could find him so easily, so could others, could MACUSA, could Graves. This place, which he had never thought of as home but had hoped could hide him, at least for a little while, crumbled around him. He knew nowhere else he could hide with this corrupted darkness locked inside of him.

 

“What are you going to do- to do with me?” he asked. Perhaps, he thought, what she chose wouldn’t be so bad, his heart full of a fatal sort of fear only separated by a razor-thin line from hope.

 

Even with his gaze not directly on her Credence could see the hand she lifted to her mouth and hear the soft inhalation of breath.

 

“Oh, honey, nothing. Nothing. That’s- I’m not here for that.”

 

The endearment bounced around inside his mind, the words become something delicate that no part of him felt it could touch because it would break. He looked at her, unable to ask why she was here. But even without saying it aloud it was as though she knew what he was thinking.

 

Tina bowed her head and picked at her sleeve with two fingers, seemingly embarrassed. “I just came to see if I could find something of yours,” she trailed off and shot a quick look at him.

 

Her words threw him. “Mine?”

 

Tina nodded her head once and bit her lip, clearly unable to continue. A moment passed before she spoke again in a quiet voice. “To bury.”

 

For a second, Credence couldn’t breathe, his heart still in his chest. Then heat flooded his face and pricked at his eyes, drawing tears up to the surface. He could find no way to respond to that, his throat suddenly clogged with an emotion he couldn't name.

 

“I thought someone should do that for you, say goodbye. I didn't want it to end like it had.” A half smile curled at the corner of Tina’s lips, lifting a little of the sadness of her eyes. “Or I thought it had.”

 

Credence bowed his head, unable to stop the tears that started to drip down his cheeks. Everything felt like it was pouring in around him, overwhelming him. She had thought it important to bury something of his in his stead, and stand over a makeshift grave to grieve like he was someone to be missed. The image hung before him even as his eyes blurred with tears and he leaned forward to press his forehead against his knees, face aflame and heart feeling like it was going to break in his chest. He didn't deserve it, he knew he didn't, not after the way he tore through the city like a weapon, not human but a live wire setting everything around it alight, and yet she had still come here for him.

 

He had no idea how long he cried, all curled up, long since trained to keep the sounds quiet. When the sobs finally petered out, he wiped his face with the heels of his hands, feeling almost delirious with exhaustion. Everything seemed totally unreal, swimming in his tear-stained gaze, and he half expected the room to be empty when he finished, everything just a dream he had, an apparition of a life that could never be.

 

He looked up with tender eyes and his nose all stuffed up to find the room not empty as he had thought. Tina was kneeling in front of him, not touching him, but looking at him with wet eyes. She sniffed, the tip of her nose pink in the golden light, and her mouth trembled as she spoke.

 

“Do you want to come home with me?” she asked. “Or if you don't, I can help you go somewhere. Is there anywhere you want to go?”

 

He nodded his head, and when she stood and held out a hand, he allowed himself to take it, feeling the warmth of her touch, if just for a second.

 

 

 

 

When Credence stepped inside Tina’s apartment, dawn was beginning to streak the sky and sending everything softly into grey shadow. All the lights were out but an old pink-shaded lamp next to the couch, which Tina shook her head at when she saw it.

 

She walked over and was just about to turn it off when a door behind her opened with a small creak. Tina jumped and Credence found himself with his back up against the front door, heart jumping in his chest.

 

“Teenie? Is that you?” a sleepy voice preceded a golden-haired head peeking around the edge of the door. A woman emerged from the bedroom, clad in dressing gown made of a peach-colored material that shone in the light, her arms wrapped around her chest.

 

Tina had turned around quickly, hand on her heart and looking startled. When she saw who it was, she let out a long breath and her stiff posture relaxed. “Queenie, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up.”

 

“It's alright, the wards went off so I just thought something might be…” the woman said, then trailed off, her brow crinkling as she stared at Tina. Credence didn’t know if he was allowed to say anything, to speak, so he pressed his lips together and watched with worried eyes as they looked at each other.

 

As if drawn by his thoughts, Queenie turned and looked straight at him, then exclaimed in a delighted voice, “The boy!”

 

She smiled brilliantly at him and crossed the room towards him, looking excited. Before she got to him, she stopped and looked at him shyly, “Aw, honey, we’re so glad you’re here! You’s don’t know me, I know, we never got a chance to meet in all the ruckus that happened, but I’m Tina’s big sister, Queenie. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

There was something about her personality that seemed to exude a sense of happiness, but, tired and emotionally exhausted, Credence couldn’t figure out how to respond. She watched him intently with dark blue eyes, and for a moment it felt like she was able to see right into him. The effect pinned him in place and he held his breath without meaning to, sure she could see something in him that would expose him for what he was.

 

“Don’t worry about any of that, honey, you don’t need to say a thing. We’s gonna take care of you, Tina and me. If you want.” She tilted her golden head and bit her lip, like she was listening to something he was saying. “You do. I’m so glad!”

 

Credence felt like she had just read his mind, but it had to be impossible.

 

“But let’s get you into bed, c’mon, you must be so tired after all you’s been through. You can sleep in my bed and Tina and I can snuggle up together tonight. Is that alright with you?”

 

Credence nodded dumbly, and followed Queenie as she and Tina led him into their small bedroom, the lights turning on and settling the room into a low, golden glow.

 

“There's a set of longjohns for you, if you want to change out of those clothes,” Queenie said.

 

He watched as a pair of dark red pyjamas floated over from one of the open bureaus to fold itself on one of the beds. It wasn't until he picked them up that he realized with a jolt that she had sent them there by magic. Hands gripping the clothes tightly, he looked around, unsure.

 

Tina’s back was to him as she opened her dresser and pulled out her own set of pyjamas, light green with little white flowers printed over them. Catching his eye as she turned, a little smile formed at the corner of her mouth.

 

“Do you want any cocoa before bed?” Tina asked.

 

Credence shook his head silently even as his stomach clenched in hunger; he didn't want her to put herself out for him. In the past, he’d gone to bed with less.

 

“Alright. Just finish getting ready for bed,” she said in a kind voice, and headed out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

 

Left alone in the room, the silence of the morning seemed to fold in on him, tucking in close. So much had happened in less than a day, and he shut his eyes and tried to find his balance in the situation. He was alive and standing in the apartment of two witches, warm and safe, holding clean, soft clothes in his hands.

 

“I will not be disappointed if it's only a dream,” Credence muttered and pressed the pyjamas in his hands up against his face, trying to make himself believe his words. But as he breathed in, he took in the smell of laundry detergent and the faint touch of flowers. It was a beautiful thing. His heart twisted as he realized he would miss it if it disappeared when he woke.

 

It took him far longer than it normally did to undress, his hands still weak and shaky.

 

Hurry up , he reprimanded himself, but the anxiousness only made it more difficult to unbutton his vest and shirt, the buttons slipping between his fingers. As he pulled his belt off, the buckle caught awkwardly on his finger and he jerked in pain.

 

Frustrated, by the time he pulled on the pyjamas and set his folded clothes at the end of his bed, he felt as though hours had gone by. Credence was sure they were waiting impatiently to go to sleep, so he got into the bed and pulled up the blankets to his chin as fast as he could.

 

For a moment everything around him was quiet enough for him to hear his rapid breaths, and his limbs felt stiff with tension. He didn’t know if he should call out for Tina or Queenie to tell them he had finished, or be quiet and not disturb them. Unable to decide, he barely remembered closing his eyes and tilting his head onto the softly fragrant pillow. He fell asleep as though put under a spell.

 

 

 

 

The kitchen was alive with light and sound as Queenie spun around it, directing bits of flour and eggs to whisk themselves in a bowl while a kettle of tea, a plate of sliced ham, and various cutlery to float through the air and land softly on the table set in the center of the room. Golden light from the nearly noontime sun filtered in through the open shades of the kitchen and living room windows, and the room was warm with the oven's heat in a way that felt like a luxury after cold mornings in the unheated church.

 

Queenie seemed totally unaware of anyone else in the room as she hummed a little tune and spun her wand in time to the song, the cream spiralling into the porcelain pitcher in response.

 

Credence watched from the doorway, in awe, as batter poured from a bowl suspended in air and began to form itself into scones that turned a warm, golden brown before his eyes. They floated down and settled themselves on a plate, steaming slightly, and Credence’s stomach grumbled so loudly he could hear it.

 

“Oh, you're awake.” Queenie turned around and smiled at him. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

 

Credence stumbled over his words and ducked his head, not used to being asked. “Very well, thank you,” he said, even though it wasn't strictly true.

 

He had slept better than he had in a long while but he still felt exhausted when he woke up, abruptly, as if he had been shaken, his eyes still full of a dark dream that hovered just out of the reach of his memory.

 

Queenie looked looked at him intently for a moment with her dark blue eyes, and then she smiled again. “That's good to hear, sweetheart. I was worried about you.” A tea service arranged itself on the table between the other breakfast dishes, directed by a wave of Queenie’s wand as she turned back towards the stove. “Tina will be back in a minute, she just popped out to check on a couple of things before breakfast.”

 

Credence looked around, his hands feeling suddenly very empty. He felt as though he should be doing something, but the plates were already set and the tea was made, and all of the dishes were filling themselves up without any need of help. Credence shifted awkwardly and pulled at the sleeve of his jacket, which he had found cleaned and folded neatly at the end of his bed when he woke.

 

“Do you need any help with anything?” he asked.

 

“Oh, no, honey, I'm almost all done. You don't need to do a thing. Just take a seat and we can start in a minute,” Queenie replied without turning around.

 

After a moment’s pause, Credence sat down at the table, hands pressed tightly together over his knees, not sure what to do. It was strange, not to help out with meals. Mary Lou had always expected the children to be up before her and breakfast to be made before she came down and led them through their morning prayers.

 

Closing his eyes, Credence bowed his head and got ready to pray. But the words wouldn't come to him, none of the words of thanks that he had said a thousand times over slipping out of his mind and leaving his mouth empty. It was as though he had forgotten overnight how to pray, and the thought sent an odd feeling tracing down his back, unease but also relief.

 

A bell chimed and Queenie said “Tina!” before spinning around. Credence looked up to see the front door opening and Tina coming in, hands full of newspapers and a brown paper bag from the corner bodega.

 

“G’morning,” Tina said, without the same brightness as her sister, though she smiled at Credence as well as she dropped the paper bag on the kitchen counter. She looked exhausted, faint circles of grey underlining her eyes and making her appear paler in the morning light.

 

Queenie leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek. “How did it go?” she asked in a quiet, private tone.

 

“Good, everything's sorted out,” Tina replied in a quiet voice, then mumbled something so low even he couldn’t hear it. Queenie’s eyebrows dipped towards each other as if she were puzzling something out, but she didn’t reply aloud.

 

Tina shot a quick look at Credence, who stared at his plate and tried to pretend he wasn't listening.

 

“Swell. Now sit down and let's have breakfast. Everything else can wait,” Queenie said and the sisters came around the table to sit down on either side of Credence.

 

Credence waited until both of them had served themselves before he took anything for himself, and tried not to put too much on the plate. He was surprised at how hungry he actually was, once he smelled the pastries and took a bite of the sausages, and had to remind himself to eat slowly, not to be greedy. He was still a guest, and though he had little experience in the area, he knew not to ask for too much.

 

Neither sister spoke much as they ate so Credence followed their lead and kept quiet. His mind, however, was worriedly racing with questions. Chief among them was what they were going to do with him.

 

Even though Tina had promised she wouldn’t turn him into the people who had attacked him before, that didn’t mean she wanted him to stay. He no longer had any family left in the world and nowhere else he knew he could go. If they kicked him out, he would have to live on the streets and try to figure out what to do after that. The thought made it feel as though cold water had flushed suddenly over him and he lost the rest of his appetite.

 

But it was as though they knew what he was thinking as they directed him into the living room after breakfast. Tina took a seat on a stuffed chair while Queenie sat next to him on the couch.

 

Tina sighed deeply and dread climbed like feverish sickness through Credence’s chest. They both looked pensive and even Queenie’s ever-present smile had disappeared from her lips.

 

“Credence, we can't keep you here,” Tina said at last. All the feeling in him fled Credence’s body in a flush and left him cold as ice. It was true.

 

Warm hands grabbed his and he looked numbly over to see Queenie staring back at him, shaking her head and looking worried.

 

“Not like that, honey. That’s not what Teenie meant,” she said in a kind tone.

 

“No! No, of course not like that,” Tina jumped in and leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “Sweet Lewis. I’m sorry. I just meant we want to help you. But me and Queenie don't know much about what's going on with you. We've never dealt with something like an Obscurus before.”

 

Credence blinked.

 

“An Obscurus?” he asked in a hoarse voice, his heartbeat returning faintly to his chest. He didn’t want to hope for anything. “W-what’s that?”

 

Tina frowned, her dark eyebrows crinkling her forehead. “Well, I don’t know how to explain it really. But that power you have inside you, I saw it last night…” she trailed off, and Credence felt terror strike him.

 

She saw.

 

“I-I, what you saw, it’s…” he protested, not quite sure what he wanted to say but wanting to reassure them.

 

“An Obscurus,” Tina said, not unkindly. “We know. It’s a kind of magic that can be very damaging. When a magical child isn’t able to practice their magic it gets all bottled up inside them. But it doesn’t go away. The only way it can escape is if it kind of… explodes.”

 

Credence had no reply to this. He had known it was some form of magic that was inside him, twisted up though it was, but it was different to hear it spoken of by someone else.

 

“It’s real dangerous,” Queenie said.

 

Credence looked between the both of them desperately and tried to appeal to them. “I’m sorry. I’ll go away. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

 

The image of Mr. Graves flashed in front of his eyes for a moment and he felt shame slide hotly through him, coupled by the remnants of the heady anger of that night. It seemed impossible to think of one without the other. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to banish the apparition from his mind, but he could feel the near-recognizable sensation of that darkness rising up within him again, like a smothering smoke that left no room for him to breathe.

 

“Credence, it’s dangerous for you ,” Tina said in a soft voice.

 

“We’re worried about you,” Queenie said, squeezing his hands.“Youse don’t want to hurt anyone but that thing can hurt you, bad.”

 

Credence inhaled shallowly, trying to keep the terror from overtaking him. He knew he didn’t want to hurt anyone, not after that night, not now that he could remember the screams of the people he had encountered, the overwhelmingly raw pain that smarted every time he thought of it. But he could feel the magic swirling and thickening in his chest, and it was only a small comfort that none of it had started to rise from his skin in dark clouds.

 

“What are you going to do?” he asked in the loudest voice he could manage, which was still barely a whisper. He clenched his fists tightly until pain stabbed down through his palms. It was easier to concentrate when he could feel his body outside of the magic, and with a slight sense of relief he felt the coil of the darkness start to curl more tightly in on itself, as if being folded and put away somewhere.

 

“We don’t know that much about Obscurials or the Obscurus, but we do have a friend who we think can help you. Newt Scamander,” Tina said, and a shock of recognition hit Credence at the name.

 

He remembered a head of red hair and a calming voice reaching to him through an overwhelming, choking darkness. And the screams as Graves had chased after him and tortured him, his voice gone high and pained in a way that had wrenched at Credence even in the depths of his fury and terror. “He was at the subway.”

 

“Right, that’s right.” Tina smiled. “You met him before. He’s the only one we know who has seen an Obscurial in almost 200 years and he’s worked with them, tried to save them… We think he can help you. The only thing is, he’s in London.”

 

Disappointment made a pit where Credence’s stomach was supposed to be, drawing all his feelings inside. He’d never be able to make it to London. He had no money, no way to get there.

 

“We were hoping to take you to him,” Queenie said, her dark blue eyes meeting his in that slightly unnerving way. “Don't worry about any of that, honey, we're going to take care of you.”

 

“But we're going to have to leave immediately,” Tina said, and she looked worried again, her gaze searching around the room as if thinking something was going to pop out of the woodwork. “Today, probably.”

 

“Today?” Credence asked, his voice gone high and hoarse in shock. “Why?”

 

Tina’s gaze flickered from him to Queenie, whose face had tensed. They looked at each other for a moment without speaking.

 

“I've got tickets for us all on a steamer leaving at noon. It's short notice, but I think the sooner we get you to someone who knows what's going on with you, the better you'll get.”

 

Credence looked between them, feeling like he was about to make a monumental choice but seeing no other option open to him. The idea that someone knew how to control the dark power within him and he might be able to live without fear, even do magic one day, it seemed impossible, but he couldn't say no. The rest of his life had closed in around him like night falling, obscuring the narrow path he used to tread and leaving him stranded. And yet here another passage was beginning to spread itself before him, and it seemed like the only way out of the darkness.

 

“Okay, let's go.”

 

 

 

 

It was Madam President Seraphina Picquery herself that stepped through the door of the New Salem Church, looking around the wreckage with a shrewd eye.

 

“This is where he was from, just like Grindelwald said,” Auror Pinkerton said from her side. They could hear the squad of Aurors stomping around on the second floor and several were downstairs, beginning to repair the damage. Pinkerton leaned in closer, speaking quietly so none of the others could overhear, “And the reason I called you in particular, Madam President… He's been here recently.”

 

“The boy Obscurial?” Picquery asked in a low tone, her calm expression suddenly frozen on her face. “Are you sure?”

 

“Positive. Stayed the night, probably. Someone took him away from here, though. A witch or wizard. There are traces of a different kind of magic, like that of a fully grown wizard.”

 

“Do we know who?”

 

Pinkerton shook her head and surveyed the damaged church. “Not yet, but we will.”

 

 

 

 

At the railing of the steamer, Credence watched as the tall form of the Statue of Liberty began to shrink and disappear into the mist of New York Harbor. He should have been sad, he supposed, but instead he felt a great surge of relief as the high-rise buildings drew further and further away. There were so few fond memories he had in that city that to see it fade into the distance as though he would never see it again seemed to ease a heavy weight off his heart.

 

Taking a deep breath of the salt-touched air, he thought of London ahead, a city he had barely seen photos of. It was a city where no one knew who he was and what he had done. And there, too, would be the redheaded man who had tried to help him before and might be able to finally free him from the terrifying power curled up deeply inside of him that was waiting impatiently to escape. The cold mist rising from the frothing grey waves cooled his suddenly flushed cheeks.

 

He touched the soft camel-colored coat the sisters had given him, and pulled it tighter around his new pale grey suit, unused to the soft feel of the fabrics. They were beautiful and he felt shame grab at his stomach with tight fingers. They had given him so much that he could never repay them for: kindness, protection, new clothes. And now, the possibility of a new life.

 

If I get better, I'll find a way to repay them for everything , he thought, and the conviction seemed to arrow down his spine until he stood up straight. I'll help them any way I can.

 

Credence took one last look at New York City, and turned around to go find his traveling companions, leaving the city to disappear into the horizon.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt will be here... very soon.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

_Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known._

 

\- Sharon Begley

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Mr. Graves? Are you awake?”

 

The man looked away from where he was staring out of the window, his brow furrowed in concentration, to the woman standing at the end of his bed. With a sigh of effort, Graves struggled up into a sitting position, arranging the pillow behind him. The woman moved forward as if to help him, but his sharp look made her step back, hands grabbing each other behind her back.

 

When he had settled himself, he looked at her again, clasping his hands and putting them on his lap as if she had merely interrupted him in his office at MACUSA headquarters. Even with the dark circles under his eyes and his haggard appearance, he held a commanding presence.

 

“Yes, Ms. Brooks?” he asked. His deep voice betrayed little of the exhaustion his face held.

 

“I'm here on behalf a’ President Picquery, to talk to ya about what you might know--” Auror Brooks began, but Graves cut sharply across her.

 

“I already spoke to Ms. Spade, and Mr. Dobson, and Mrs. Fitzgerald, and many others about everything I remembered about my interactions with Gellert Grindelwald. They were all very brief. I got very little understanding of his wider ambitions beyond wanting to possibly kill me. Is there something specific that you need to know about?” Graves sounded outwardly patient, although it was obvious that frustration lingered underneath his words.

 

It was so like his regular self that for a moment Brooks forgot he had been held captive for several months and was not merely debriefing her after a particularly gruelling Auror mission.

 

“Yeah, actually, sir,” Brooks said, and a measure of surprise registered on Graves’ face. He turned to her in interest, dark gaze resting on her. “You've spoken a little ‘bout the boy...”

 

“Credence,” Graves cut in again, less sharply this time. In the light thrown by the open window shades, his dark eyes seemed to cloud for a moment, before he blinked and the effect disappeared.

 

“Yes, Credence Barebone of those New Salemers. That's who we wanted to talk to ya about, not Grindelwald. Not this time.” Brooks coughed, feeling uncomfortable at the way Graves’ stare seemed to become more intent, his brows forming a line across his brow.

 

“We don't know that much ‘bout his past, and the woman who took care of him didn't keep no papers about where she mighta picked him up. Even the No-Majs don't seem to have no records of a Credence Barebone being born in or coming to New York City any time in the past coupla decades. We're sure stumped here, Mr. Graves, which is why we’re coming to you.”

 

Graves was silent for a few seconds, his expression impossible to read. He turned to look out the window for a moment, his eyes focusing in on the cloudy sky as if it held something more than the promise of rain for the afternoon. His voice was softer when he spoke again, softer than Brooks had ever heard it before. “Why do you want to know about him?”

 

Brooks tried not to betray her nervousness of lying to her previous boss, though behind her back, her hands tightened convulsively around each other. “They's just doing some follow up, ya know? Want to have as much know-how about him so we can try to keep this kinda mess-up from happening twice.”

 

“I see,” Graves replied, but he seemed distracted. His eyes flickered from the window of the hospital room and back to her, bereft of their previous intensity.

 

“Well, we've looked him all up everywhere, and there's squat. No Credence Barebone existed in New York before this.”

 

“That's because his name isn't Credence. And he certainly isn't a Barebone.”

 

Brooks raised her eyebrows at Graves’ flat tone and pulled out a small leather bound notebook. She magicked the book into the air with a ballpoint pen that started to scrawl hastily on the pages inside.

 

“Not a Barebone? What d’you mean?” she asked, deciding to start with the easier question. Even so, she knew the pen was noting down _real name isn’t Credence, possible aliases?_

 

Graves scoffed as if the question were ridiculous. “He's not Mary Lou Barebone’s natural born son. I don't think any of the children that she _took care of_ were hers.”

 

“How many kids did she have, I mean, did she take care of?” Brooks avoided the strange intonation Graves had given the words ‘take care’ though she was sure to note it down regardless. They already knew a lot about Mary Lou Barebone, partially through some old cases and some recent information they had managed to gather from the No-Maj police, but Brooks was just glad Graves was talking. Perhaps she wouldn’t fail at this interview after all.

 

“Three, I believe. Those were the ones she ‘adopted,’ you might say. But there were always a bunch of children around that church.” Graves waved dismissively at the mention of the church, as if it were something he didn't think warranted the name or was even worth remembering.

 

Brooks frowned, something niggling at her memory. _The church that Grindelwald focused on, possible connection?_ she noted down in the book.

 

“So you've been to the church before? Is that where you met Credence?” Brooks asked casually, and Graves looked away from the window to fix her with a penetrating look that sliced effortlessly through her. The ballpoint pen slowly scratched to a stop on the notebook’s page as they looked at each other for a long, tense moment.

 

“Yes,” Graves responded slowly, never taking his eyes off of Brooks. She could feel a trickle of sweat slide slowly down the side of her face. Though his expression hadn’t shifted, she knew she was rumbled.

 

Brooks tried to look calm, twitching her wand in the direction of the notebook. The pen seemed to shake itself and then continued its scrawl across the page, the sound loud in the quiet of the hospital room. “And why did ya go to the church in the first place?” When Graves didn’t respond, she continued in a softer tone. “Was it to meet him? That was never mentioned in your notes.”

 

Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say. In a snap, a thunderous expression clouded Graves’ face, completely obscuring the exhaustion. For a moment, he again looked very much the powerful Director of Magical Security, his dark eyes flashing under his heavy brows and his shoulders drawn into a sharp, straight line under his hospital gown. Though she knew he could barely walk on his own, the knowledge went flying straight from her. For a moment she thought for sure that he was going to burst from the bed himself and grab her.

 

“Get out,” he said shortly, voice echoing ominously around the room. His body seemed to crackle with contained magical energy, everything about him seeming to come alive. Brooks swallowed in convulsive fear at the electric, angry expression on Graves’ face.

 

Desperately, Brooks tried to salvage the interview, though she knew it was already lost. “But Mr. Graves, sir, the President would like you to…”

 

“To hell with what the President wants!” Graves exploded, pale skin of his cheeks flushed with energy, and Brooks took a step back, stunned both by the words and his vehemence. “This is her mess to deal with! She got the No-Majs involved, she can damn well deal with the consequences of killing one of them! You had no right to go through my personal notes. No right! You or Picquery. Get out.”

 

Graves gestured emphatically with his open hand towards the door, which swung open with a snap. Brooks could see Graves’ wand resting on the nightstand next to his bed as she hurried towards the open door, her pen scribbling furiously in the notebook. It was clear, though he didn’t look it, he was closer to his full strength than she or Picquery had thought.

 

Once she was safely through the door, she called back, “If you remember anything else, let me know, would ya!”

 

Brooks caught one last glimpse of Graves’ incensed expression before the door slammed shut with a clear air of finality. A moment later, there was the decisive click of the lock, and she knew she would never be able to get back inside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Credence knocked on the door to the state room, and a moment later, a muffled voice called, “Come in!”

 

“Tina?” he asked quietly, looking around the edge of the door and into the small room. Clothes were scattered all over the two small twin beds, and on top of them were various papers, some arranging themselves into neat stacks and some floating gently into Tina’s hands. The whole room seemed filled with movement, though it was empty but for Tina.

 

She looked up at him and smiled slightly, before going back to work. “Where's Queenie?” she asked, pointing her wand at the booklet in her hand and frowning in concentration. On the outside of the book, Credence could just make out the words ‘Passport of The United States of America’ stamped in gold.

 

“She’s up on deck watching some of the kids play badminton.” He took a seat on the one open chair not covered with papers or clothes and watched as Tina continued to work on the passport.

 

“I'm making papers for us, for the No-Maj immigration when we arrive,” Tina said, seeming to anticipate his silent question. She took one of the passports from the pile and passed it over to Credence as she continued to work. “I figure it's probably best if they don't have our real names.”

 

Credence looked down at the black and white photo tacked to the inside of the passport. Queenie and Tina had gotten out an old Brownie camera and snapped photos of him up against the blank wall in the state room as he tried not to look too closely into the lens. Mary Lou had always said cameras could steal your soul, but the way the women had laughed and had fun posing him, he felt like nothing bad could be achieved by it. So he had eventually smiled, embarrassed as they arranged his hair and told him to stand up straight, not sure what it was all about but willing to go along with it for their sakes.

 

The man in the picture was looking straight into the camera, dark hair parted far to the left and slicked back until it shone with brilliantine. His square jaw cut in above the white of his collar, his lips quirked in a small smile, dark eyes bright with the light of the flash. He was handsome and confident, seemingly without fear. Though Credence knew the man was him, the effect of the new haircut and the smile in the photo was disconcerting.

 

Credence had never seen a photo of himself before, and the confident tilt of the man’s head in the photo made it look entirely like a stranger. He ran a finger down the side of the photograph, trying to reconcile the image with the different one he saw so often in the mirror.

 

“Nicholas Carraway?” he asked, finally reading the name on the passport.

 

Tina looked up and smiled. “Nick Carraway. Did you read Fitzgerald’s newest?”

 

Credence put the passport down on the bed next to Tina, shaking his head. Some unaccountable disappointment passed through him and he tried not to let it show on his face. “I never read much.”

 

Tina looked at him, her dark eyes lingering over his face. “I’ll lend you the book sometime. It’s nothing important, just a little joke for immigration.”

 

Credence sat, knees pressed together and hands still tight on his knees as he watched the papers settle themselves quietly and Tina continued to work. He knew he should be happy, but there was something still unsettled in him that wouldn’t fully disappear until-- well, he wasn’t sure, but the longer they spent on the journey between America and England, the more discomfited he became.

 

“Isn’t there a faster way for us to get to… where we’re going?” he asked, voice quiet and disappearing completely when Tina looked back up at him. Almost immediately, he wanted to say it didn’t matter, she didn’t need to respond, but the words, along with the rest of his voice, seemed to be swallowed up by the fear that had suddenly clogged his throat. Instead, he stared at her in terror that crawled over his skin like multiple. He shouldn’t have asked her, questioned her judgment.

 

Tina blinked, her hands stilling on her work. “Well, um, yes. There are faster ways for wizard travel… but…”

 

Credence felt himself sit up straighter at the mention, though he couldn’t bring himself to speak. The fear notched down a little, though he knew it could at any moment return.

 

“There are these things called portkeys…” Tina began, and she put down the passport she was working on. The papers in the room slowly settled themselves down where they had been, regardless of order. The sudden stillness of the room settled heavily over Credence in silence as everything came to a halt. It felt more unnatural than the movement powered by magical means, and he could just barely hear the hum of the steamer outside the state room door.

 

“The portkeys, wizards use them to get from place to place, especially if there’s quite a few of them or they’re going somewhere further away. It’s safer than… other transport.” Tina shifted closer to Credence, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “See, there’s Apparition, where one wizard jumps from place to place almost immediately…”

 

“Like Mr. Graves,” Credence said. He thought abruptly of all of the times Graves had disappeared with a sudden _pop_ at as he strode away after their meetings. It was as if between one step and the next he had just disappeared into thin air, nothing disturbed in the area, everything around where he had just stood looking as though he had never even been there in the first place.

 

Credence had just thought he had looked away for one second too long, and the man had turned around the corner, that everything he might have seen was just his imagination working overtime, but it made sense. _Apparition._

 

Tina looked at him, her mouth moving like she wanted to say something important. Instead, she cleared her throat. “Yes, Mr. Graves was skilled at apparition. Normally, we don’t use it in the presence of anyone who isn’t… part of the magical community.”

 

 _Not part of the magical community?_ he thought, and something crumpled slightly in Credence’s chest, though he tried to not let it show.

 

Tina waved at him, continuing on without seeing his distress. “But you are, of course. It doesn’t matter, especially now that we know you really are one of us.”

 

Credence tried to smile in response to Tina’s look, but it was hard to make the expression spread across his face. “Why don’t we travel that way?”

 

Surprise passed over Tina’s face, though she quickly blinked it away. She shifted and when she looked back at Credence, it was with a more serious expression. “Well, they’re all dangerous. But right now, portkeys are banned between America and Europe, and we’d be in big trouble if we were caught using one. They’ve all been heavily monitored since the war, and Grindelwald’s uprising. And Apparition between continents… well, it’s incredibly dangerous. Especially with multiple people. I’d never feel safe risking it, even for something as important as this…”

 

Credence looked at her, the kind way she watched him as if expecting him to protest. The soft, peachy glow of the electric lights set on the wall made the highlights shimmering over her dark hair glow.

 

“And when we get to Southampton?” he asked.

 

Already, it had been nearly a week on the close confines of the steamer. Even in middle class, with his tiny personal room and the sharp wind of the Atlantic up on the deck, Credence felt closed in by too many people. There were too many people aboard the ship, too many people watching him at all times, the sisters watching him at night, there to see if anything went up in flames, and everyone else there to see if he acted like a normal traveller up above. There was never a moment’s peace and it was becoming claustrophobic.

 

Tina reached out and took Credence’s hands in hers, her skin slightly rough but soft as it gripped his. Her dark eyes looked straight into his as she spoke. “Once we land, we can get to London faster, if you want. I was thinking we could take the train. But we can Apparate there, though I promise it won’t be fun. But domestic Apparition is less regulated, I’m sure.”  

 

Credence gripped her hand in his, trying to work up the courage to ask more but failing. The hum of the ship’s engines seemed to grow louder and louder as they sat there in silence, and the thought of days more on a train or a car to London, trapped between crowds of people, unable to relax, always worried he would slip up and the darkness that had lived quietly underneath his skin for the past week would escape again, cause damage, wreak havoc, _hurt people_. He couldn’t stand it. Whatever Apparition was, whatever it did to him, he would have to take it.

 

“Alright,” he said, though uncertainty still twisted its dark hands around his heart, made his throat tight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Outside of the customs area on the southside dock at Southampton, Tina and Credence stood next to each other, waiting for Queenie to get through immigration checks. They could see her talking to the official in charge, smiling her brilliant smile and posing cheekily when the official asked questions.

 

Even seeing it was going well, the tense anticipation that had begun when they had finally docked, hours ago, tightened again in Credence’s chest. The cold sea air seemed to have grown fetid in the harbor, and the overwhelming smell of petrol and general rot made it hard to take a breath. His whole body felt cold and numb, just a faint heartbeat echoing underneath his skin as he waited. It seemed obvious that something would go terribly wrong at the last moment and they’d never make it to London.

 

Finally, the official handed Queenie back her documents and waved her on her way. She bounced over to them, swinging her suitcase in one hand. As soon as she was in earshot, she laughed, and said, “Guess what, honey? That man gave me the number of his friend in London and told me he would buy me a drink for sure if I swung by. Isn’t that so peachy?”

 

She looked over at Credence, who felt so tense any movement of his would break him. A sense of urgency twisted up in his stomach, and he wanted to ask if they could go, but his mouth refused to open.

 

Immediately, Queenie reached over and squeezed his arm, the mirth falling from her face until all that was left was soft concern. “Don’t worry, honey. We’re going right now. You’re going to be alright.”

 

The words seemed to come to him from far away, his whole body so cold that he knew he was probably shivering. Tina turned and looked at him, catching his gaze with her dark eyes. “Credence, I’ll be right here. Remember what I told you? Apparition is going to feel really terrible for a second, and then it’s over, and we’ll be there. It’ll just take a second.”

 

He tried to keep her gaze, but the anticipation of the past week had already gathered tightly up in him and was already working something like terror up his throat. Unable to speak, he swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded shakily.

 

“Alright, let’s go. Credence, you have the suitcase?” Tina asked, and Credence nodded again, closing his eyes almost reflexively. The clatter of people at the dock, the seagulls caterwauling and the slap of water up against the ships, faded away into a general buzz until all Credence could hear was Tina’s quiet voice from next to him saying, “One... two... three.”

 

His shoulders tensed as if anticipating a blow.

 

And then it was as though he were being wrenched suddenly through the air. His whole body was being forced by some unseen pressure through a tiny hole the size of a quarter and he didn’t think he could fit. His limbs were squeezed impossibly small and painfully tight together and he wanted to scream but there was no air in his lungs. Next to him, he could feel Tina’s arm in his and it was as though they were fused together, unable to disconnect, and he wanted to tell her how terrible it all was, but as he opened his mouth he found that he had no voice with which to speak. It was impossible to move, the pressure around him far too high, it was pressing the breath out of him, and he panicked.  

 

Just as suddenly as they had been pulled away, they landed in a small brick alley, dark cobblestones underneath their feet. All the pressure around him let up so abruptly Credence felt light headed with the unexpected freedom. He stumbled sideways, whole body weak, and dropped the suitcase. He felt himself slip from Tina’s grasp as his knees gave out and he fell over, hands just barely coming out in time to keep himself from slamming into the cold ground.

 

In the suddenly limitless air, his skin throbbed with his wildly beating heart. He gasped in desperation with an open mouth but he still couldn’t get enough air, it wasn’t possible; his lungs felt crushed in his chest. Panic, dark and overwhelming, began to swell hotly through him. It rose through him in a torrential rush and filled his body up and up and up until it began to overflow. Credence looked down at his pale hands on the cobblestones and saw darkness begin to lift slowly from his skin like wisps of smoke into the air.

 

His lips moved almost noiselessly as he tried to speak. “Help.”

 

Credence blinked, trying to focus on the ground underneath his palms and knees, but his veins ran hot with an unplaceable fear and he couldn’t make himself ignore it. The magic continued to pour from him in thickening black clouds, seeping out of his skin as if it wanted to surround him in a cocoon of dark energy. There seemed to be no way to pull it back inside, it was slipping from his grasp too quickly to pull back on, leaving his insides cold as ice.

 

Arms reached around him, warm and soft and imbued with a light, floral perfume that he recognized. Soft hair brushed against his cheek as Queenie embraced him, and in front of him, Tina knelt, her warm hands covering his. Though the magic slipped out from underneath her grip and blackened the air until he could no longer see where they touched, she held his half-numb hands tightly.  

 

“Credence, it’s alright. You’re safe. Credence, you’re safe,” Tina said and her urgent voice floated through his panic to where he hung, breath suspended in his throat. “Look at me, Credence, look at me.”

 

With a supreme effort, Credence forced his gaze up to Tina’s face and she smiled through her obvious concern. “We’re here, Credence. It’s alright.”

 

Clenching his eyes shut, he forced himself to take a painful breath, and then another, deeper breath, filling his lungs with cold air. His body shuddered with each breath but he knew it was better than the numbness at the ends of his limbs.

 

 _I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay_ , he repeated to himself, unable to say it out loud, but he held onto the the thought like a lifeline. He could hear Tina’s voice as she spoke calmly to him, and Queenie’s arms around him, and he knew they were both still there. Slowly, the panic receded like a great ebbing tide, drawing out further and further each time until he could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears but he could feel his body and he knew the darkness was beginning to be pulled back inside.

 

“That’s good, sweetheart,” Queenie said encouragingly, her voice next to his ear. “We’s got you.”

 

Warmth spread slowly through him, like the touch of sunlight over the spread of his shoulders and down through his chest, liquid gold under his skin. The sharp relief of the world around him faded into softer blues and greys. The danger that lingered underneath his skin seemed to have been swallowed up by some emptiness inside of him that gathered it all up close and turned its back on him.

 

Suddenly relieved, Credence wanted to turn into the soft touch of the sisters’ hands, to turn his cold palms over and grasp Tina’s hands, allow Queenie to pull him close. But something inside of him froze up at the desire, as if in sudden, animal fear.

 

 _-Don’t touch me, freak!-_ a voice echoed through that emptiness deep in the hollow of his stomach, too warped to be recognized, but enough to taint the golden warmth spread through him. It settled still, a cold comfort, over his shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to curl up further and disappear, to cease to exist, but he couldn’t do that. Not anymore, at least.

 

Credence opened his eyes to see the sisters still kneeling next to him, the air around them shadowed by the close-set red brick buildings, but clear of any sign of the Obscurus. Relief made the hollowness inside him lighter as if filled with hydrogen, but it was followed on its heels by an overwhelming exhaustion that nearly bowled him over anew.

 

He tried to smile, but his lips were shaking too much to do it. So he just said, “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

 

Queenie released him and looked at him from the side, trying to catch his eye, but he couldn’t quite make her gaze just yet. Thoughts shadowed his mind like moths gathered to a light, grey shapes in front of a flickering warmth, and he had no energy to scatter them into individuals. Instead, he let Tina help him stand and kept quiet as Queenie released him without protest. He could feel her gaze on the side of his face before she turned to gather the suitcases, her golden hair flickering in the dimmed light of the clouded sky.

 

Neither sister seemed to want to press him for answers he couldn’t provide, so they headed in silence down several close-set alleyways of moss-covered red brick, some of the corridors so small they had to go single file. Although Credence could hear the distant sounds of a great city and the general chatter of people not too far off, they ran into no one. He was so exhausted he wanted nothing more than to find somewhere to lie down and rest, but he kept walking, feeling every step in a jolt through him though his knees had gone liquid.

 

Finally Tina drew to a stop before a flight of weatherbeaten stone steps. Motioning for them to stop, she went up them to a blue painted door. For a moment she paused, looking at the door and seeming to gather herself up. Then she drew her wand and tapped smartly on the dragon-headed wrought iron knocker.  

 

With a slight creak, the iron came alive, the dragon seeming to roll its head around as if gone stiff in disuse. It fixed Tina with a look with its dark, metal eyes, the spikes around its jaw suddenly dangerous in movement. “Yes?”

 

Somewhat taken aback, Tina paused.

 

“Are you here for someone or not?” the dragon asked, somewhat rudely, in a posh English accent.

 

“Uh, yes, we’re here for Newt Scamander,” she said, and seemed ready to explain further, but the dragon bared its long teeth as it yawned, not appearing to be listening.

 

Finally, it settled back down into its regular expression and looked at her. “Is he expecting you?”

 

Tina winced. “Not exactly. We’re kind of early.”

 

The dragon’s brows pressed down over its expressive eyes as it seemed to consider Tina. “How early?”

 

“Several months?”

 

The dragon stared at her for a long moment. Credence thought perhaps it had gone back to sleep, but then it spoke again, its tone a little more interested. “Name? I’ll let him know you’re here but he’ll have to come down himself and let you in, since you’re not authorized at present.”

 

“Tina Goldstein. We’re friends of Mr. Scamander’s from America.”

 

A ripple went through the dragon’s lips, as if it wanted to smile but wasn’t sure how. “Yes, I gathered as much--” it paused, then continued in a much more professional tone, “Mr. Scamander will be down momentarily. Good day.”

 

With another quiet creak, the dragon settled itself back down into its former position and fell completely still. Credence looked at Queenie, who smiled excitedly as if this were something that happened every day. He tried to smile, too, but still he was chilled from before and couldn’t quite manage it. Exhaustion was beginning to heavily weight his limbs and make him want to fall asleep where he was standing.

 

A moment later, they could hear the quick footsteps of someone on the stairs. A jolt of excitement made Credence stand a little taller, the energy come from somewhere hidden. A moment later, the door swung open a little and a familiar red-haired head poked out.

 

Newt Scamander stared at Tina on the top step, blinked, then swung the door fully open.

 

“Wow, um,” he said, his soft voice exactly the same as Credence remembered. “Hello Tina.” Newt seemed stunned, and unable to decide where he wanted to look. Finally, a little smile quirked his lips as he shifted back and forth. “You’re quite a bit earlier than I expected. I’m afraid I’m not done with the book.”

 

“Yes, well…” Tina said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat. She rocked back on her heels, seemingly embarrassed. “Something has come up.”

 

Newt’s eyebrows raised, his hands stilling where they had been tapping on his caramel-colored waistcoat. “Oh?”

 

“Hiya, Mr. Scamander!” Queenie called, waving cheerily from where she and Credence stood at the bottom of the steps.

 

Newt turned, surprise still on his face and one hand raised in greeting. His mouth was open as if he was about to return the greeting, but then he seemed to catch sight of Credence. Newt froze, hazel eyes fixed directly on him.

 

Credence looked up at him, exhaustion and excitement and a slight terror all mixed up inside him like a great roiling mess, unable to decide just quite how to feel. Seeming to choose for him, his heart caught in his chest and then sped up, in discomfort at the silence or something else, he didn’t know. In the cold air his breath rose up in silver streams and for a moment they were all suspended in time and silence, all watching each other, each in awe in different ways.

 

“Hello, Mr. Scamander,” he said in a hoarse voice, when no one else spoke. His heart beat in a quick thrum in his throat.

 

Newt was staring at him as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, quick breath raising his chest under his oxford and waistcoat. “Credence, hello,” he finally said, his voice so soft Credence he could barely make it out from where he stood. For a long moment they seemed unable to move, to break the fragile aura of wonder that fell over them. Newt’s eyes traced over his face and down his body, warm hazel eyes gone soft.

 

“Why don’t we go inside?” Tina suggested, and Newt jerked in surprise, as if he had forgotten she was standing right next to him. He looked at her with wide eyes, momentarily discomfited, and then back at Credence once more before he nodded.

 

Turning quickly, he motioned for them to follow and disappeared into the house.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Mr. Grindelwald, I believe you understand the terms that we offer you.”

 

Seraphina Picquery looked down at Grindelwald, sitting restrained at the interrogation table. Disgust clawed at her throat and her stomach at the satisfied expression spread across that pale, arrogant face, but she was sure not to let it show outwardly. There was little else she could do in the situation she found herself in, and she clung to that dignity as if it were the only thing keeping her from complete disaster.

 

She turned, putting her back to the man, unable to look at his smug face a moment longer. Her eyes traced over the concrete walls of the interrogation room as if searching for answers in its blank aspect, but nothing came. It was clear, like in so many other moments, she would have to face this alone. “They are extremely generous terms, in consideration of what you’ve done.”

 

“Thank you, Madame President,” Grindelwald replied, voice silkily smooth, the words cut down to a purr with his slight German accent. Even from behind, the sound made a chill run through Picquery’s spine, as if he were tracing the line with a cold, thin finger. “I appreciate your beneficence. It will not be forgotten in the future, you have my solemn word.”

 

Turning on a high heel, Picquery faced him, jaw tight and dark eyes cutting straight into his. Though a chill settled in her heart as if an icy hand had grasped unflinchingly around it, she only tilted her head in a measure of arrogance, unwilling to admit any weakness. “This has nothing to do with me individually. We only offer this for--”

 

“It has everything to do with you. Everything.” Grindelwald smiled, a sharp thing cut with nothing like human kindness. On his handsome, Teutonic face, the effect was even more unsettling. “Granting me the privilege of helping someone such as yourself, in exchange for something of so little worth to you but much importance to me, my life, you are greatly munificent. It is an indulgence that will, of course, be repaid.” His hands flexed as if he wished to gesture as he spoke, but with his wrists bound securely, he was forced to limit himself to settling himself back in the chair with an almost monarchial air, supremely confident.

 

Picquery swallowed the response that rested close upon her lips, that she could not imagine a time that this distasteful _favor_ would come in use to her.

 

 _Don’t call the demons to your door with that arrogance, saying they’ll never come knocking,_ she could hear her mother say, shaking her head at Seraphina’s disrespect. _Nothing draws ill-luck like a fool who swears they never lose._

 

Picquery broke their fixed gaze, crossing her arms over her chest. “I heard you would only speak to me, Mr. Grindelwald. Here I am.” She turned back to him, face immobile as his, and as unforgiving.

 

Grindelwald inclined his blond head at the silent command. “Here you are,” he agreed. “This Mr. Percival Graves, Head of Magical Security, you say he is unforthcoming.”

 

Hearing the name of Percival Graves from the man who had held him captive for months on end and lived amongst them with his name, with his face, made acid rise up in her throat, sudden and violent. Picquery merely watched him coldly and could not respond.

 

“Yes, unforthcoming,” Grindelwald continued heedlessly, as if she had confirmed his words. “Of course, you could give him the Veritaserum as you did with me, but doing so to your Head of Magical Security, as I said… it would be questionable. It is not what one would want their leadership to be remembered for.” His dark eyes flashed in challenge.

 

“All of the information you provide will be confirmed to the fullest extent, and every detail _must_ be confirmed, if the terms of our deal are to be met,” Picquery said, her voice unforgiving as she met his gaze. “If there is even one detail that is wrong, your life will be forfeit.”

 

“I know Mr. Percival Graves almost as I know my own self.”

 

For a moment, Grindelwald tilted his head, consideration and reserve in equal measure in the casual gesture, and suddenly Picquery was reminded with an unpleasant shock of Graves, who often did the same thing. _Or is it Grindelwald I’m remembering?_ she thought, and for a moment it was impossible to discern the difference.

 

Grindelwald was watching her closely as she sought to hide her momentary discomfort, and at her continued silence, his white teeth bared themselves in a grin. “Where shall we begin?”

 

Seraphina Picquery forced back the sudden urge she had to get up and leave this whole, terrible mess behind. Already, it was a triumph to have Grindelwald in custody and no one dead besides, but even so she knew it was not enough. Regardless of what it took, Graves had to be cleared of the suspicion he had mired himself in; the questions of her competency that had arisen from his odd silence could not be allowed to continue.

 

“Begin with the Obscurial. How did Mr. Graves meet Credence Barebone?”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays~ *kisses for everyone except Grindelwald*
> 
> there will be much more Newt very soon, I promise. <3


	4. Chapter 4

 

_That fellow strikes me as god's double,_

_Couched with you face to face, delighting_

_In your warm manner, your amiable_

_Talk and inviting_

 

_Laughter - the revelation flutters_

_My ventricles, my sternum and my stomach._

_The least glimpse, and my lost voice stutters,_

_Refuses to come back_

 

-Sappho

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Before Credence could fully process what had happened, Tina had disappeared through the front door after Newt and the two of them were left alone on the street. Queenie looked over at Credence with a smile, excitement clear on her face. With a quick glance of her eyes, she drew a line from where Newt had just stood, looking at them, and back to Credence, then winked.

 

At her knowing smile, Credence’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. Before he could ask what she had seen, Queenie had bounced up the steps and disappeared after her sister. After a moment of confused contemplation, he followed.

 

His mind turned over the new sensation of Newt’s hazel eyes traveling over him as if it wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Everything had happened so quickly, the surprise, Newt’s gaze switching over to him like a light, that quick spark of hope that had caught in Credence’s chest and had unfurled into something warm that trailed through him. He felt like none of it could be quite real.

 

In the momentary darkness of the stairwell, Credence paused to touch his still-flushed face with one hand. He shut his eyes, hands gripping the wooden railing.

 

 _Don’t make it into something it’s not,_ he reminded himself, though what it might actually be, he didn’t dare put into words for fear of its crumbling. His heart still beat fast, as if in defiance, and he couldn’t fully tamp down the small kernel of hope that had lodged itself in his chest.

 

As Credence stepped into the top-floor apartment, Newt disappeared around a nicked wooden doorway with a muffled, “Take a seat.”

 

The living room of Newt’s apartment was larger than Credence expected, with pale wooden walls that looked as though they had recently been stripped of their last coats of dark varnish. Huge, bare windows let in what little light there was from the cloudy sky, giving the effect of immense space. On the far wall, a merry fire crackled in the brick hearth. After the narrow, cold streets, it was a welcome sight, though even the first wave of warmth made him blink, oddly sleepy.

 

Queenie sat down on one of the spindly armchairs set in front of the brick fireplace while Tina had already settled herself down on the wide brown leather Chesterfield sofa. Credence stood awkwardly in the doorway as he looked around the expansive room, trying to hide his uncertain curiosity.

 

There was little in the living room to indicate much about Newt. Against one wall there was only a huge, messy bookcase overflowing with leather-backed books next to a rolltop desk stacked high with papers. Besides a set of carved wooden masks balanced on the mantle above the fire, the room was empty of decoration, as if Newt didn’t even live there.

 

Credence stepped towards the masks, curious, trying to appear as if he weren’t snooping but merely moving towards the warmth of the fire. Before he could inspect them in detail, however, he heard the shuffle of footsteps behind him. He jumped away from the mantle and sat stiffly down next to Tina on the sofa, back straight and hands clasped around his knees.

 

A moment later, Newt appeared around the doorway with a floating tray set with a full, if also mismatched, tea service. Silvery steam curled from the spout of the rose-patterned teapot as several forgotten cups and saucers followed Newt lazily across the room.

 

Newt looked a little abashed for some reason as he sat in the last free armchair, setting the tray on the coffee table. “I apologize for the lack of biscuits, but I don't have much else in at the moment. I'm afraid I haven't been spending much time at home.”

 

“Tea?” He picked up the teapot with one hand, his wand and one of the teacups in the other. When no one responded immediately, Newt looked over at Credence, who found he couldn’t quite meet his gaze. All Credence could do was nod wordlessly, feeling himself flush again.

 

“Cream and sugar?” Newt asked, his voice marginally softened, and Credence felt himself nodding again, though he had never liked much of either.

 

This was what he had been looking forward to all week long and he had so many questions he wanted to ask. But the strange, heavy exhaustion that was already making him feel moments away from sleep and the reality of being in the same room as Newt again, had scattered his thoughts. It took all of his effort not to let himself slide back into the comfortable sofa and fall asleep.

 

Newt handed the teacup over and Credence reached out to take it, their fingers brushing. Credence’s hands trembled slightly, and he was unsure if it was because of the exhaustion or the spark of warmth under his skin where they touched. As Newt served the others and then himself, Credence watched him covertly.

 

He was very much as Credence remembered him, with his flyaway red hair and soft, gravelly voice, but now out of the terror and blackness that had consumed him the last time they had met, he seemed so much more _real_. It seemed almost impossible to Credence that the person who had tried to protect him that night was sitting in the same room as him, and he couldn’t even speak, couldn't even thank him. An oddly heavy silence had descended upon the room.

 

Newt’s gaze flickered over towards Credence, who averted his eyes, not wanting to be found staring.

 

For something to do, he lifted the cup of tea to his mouth and took a sip. It was just short of scalding and he hid his wince as he swallowed.

 

“Was your journey alright?” Newt asked, when everyone had been served. Credence felt unable to speak and next to him on the couch, Tina was looking down at her tea as if it would tell her what they had come all this way to say.

 

“It was great!” Queenie responded, her unfailingly buoyant personality filling the gap. “I've never been on one of thems big steamers before, it sure was ritzy. All the different floors and dining rooms and all the dancing. Did yours have a gymnasium and tennis courts, too?”

 

“Er, I'm not sure,” Newt hesitated, looking a bit lost. “I didn't go much on the upper decks but I suppose they must have.” He set his own tea down on the table, absentmindedly spinning his wand to add more milk. Credence watched in quiet fascination as the milk pitcher rose from the tray and poured cream into the teacup, all while Newt spoke to Queenie.

 

“Oh, right, you must have spent a lot of your time in your case, then. All them creatures keep you busy?” Queenie looked slightly disappointed for him, as if he had been missing a great trick. Then an unexpected grin crossed her face. “Any of them escape again?” she asked, a note of laughter in her voice.

 

Newt ducked his head, looking bashful but oddly pleased, and shook his head. “All of them behaved on the trip back, thank Merlin. I think they had quite enough excitement in New York to keep them quiet. For now, at least.”

 

Credence frowned at Queenie’s words, trying but failing to understand what she meant. _In his case?_ he thought, but he couldn’t see anything but a brown leather suitcase resting on the chair in front of the desk. It looked rather unassuming, small as it was, and he had clearly missed it the first time he looked because it was nearly the same faded cognac color as the leather-backed chair it rested on. He couldn’t imagine what was interesting enough in there that could keep Newt occupied for over a week on a ship.

 

“I hope that you don’t mind that we came to visit you so unexpectedly,” Tina cut in. She had balanced her cup of tea on her knees, fingers curled around the saucer as if she thought someone might take it out of her hands and she wanted to keep it. From her expression, Credence could tell she was worried, as if she wasn't quite sure they'd be welcome.

 

The look sent a tiny trickle of concern down Credence’s spine like cold water. He looked over at Newt, but he was just listening at Tina with calm interest.

 

“I would have-- we would have written but the decision was made so fast, and I wasn’t sure about putting anything in writing right now.” Tina motioned minutely to Credence, who felt himself automatically shrink from the scrutiny. His head bowed until he could see no further than the tips of his own shoes.

 

“It's perfectly alright,” Newt responded, his warm voice dispelling the slight worry. “I’m glad to see you all again in any case.”

 

Tina let a slight smile cross her lips and continued on, her voice soft. “It's just we were hoping you'd be able to help Credence… and help us to help him. When he came to us alive, we thought of you first, Newt. You’re the only one who knows anything about the Obscurus, and we wouldn't trust anyone else to help him.”

 

“That's very kind of you,” Newt said in a low voice.

 

Credence looked up just in time to see an emotion pass over Newt's face at the words, as if he were remembering something unhappy. A moment later, however, it had vanished, to be replaced by that calm and mildly inquisitive look. The change was so fast that Credence wasn't quite sure he had seen it at all.

 

“Of course, I’m happy to help,” Newt continued. He seemed to belatedly realize something, for he sat up and looked around, as if he had just noticed his own apartment,  “And if you haven’t already made other arrangements, you’re quite welcome to stay here with me.”

 

“Oh, honey, thank you! We knew we could come to you,” Queenie said, smiling, and even Tina managed a slight smile. Newt, seemingly overwhelmed at the praise, merely lifted his cup up to take a sip, unable to look anyone else in the face.

 

His shyness was endearing on his browned face, where a very slight shade of pink had bloomed underneath his freckles. It reminded Credence of himself, warmth spreading through him, and he let himself look for a moment longer, wanting to capture the image in his mind.

 

Then, very quickly, Newt looked over at him. Credence froze, unsure of what expression he was making. Whatever it was, it had to be embarrassing, but there was nothing but kindness in Newt’s gaze. His heart beat kicked up in his chest at the slight smile that curled the corner of Newt’s lips before he spoke.

 

“I'll do whatever I can,” Newt said, and Credence let himself pretend, just for a second, as if Newt were speaking solely to him.

 

A sense of calm spread through the whole group, as though they had all been holding their breath for the past week. Tina and Queenie both leaned back into their seats, and though Credence felt a trickle of relief, he couldn’t quite let himself trust it. Newt really had no idea how bad everything with Credence was, and it was still possible that once he found out, he wouldn’t be so cavalier with his invitations. He could just as easily realize that he couldn’t help at all. And that would be it.

 

 _I’ll hide it_ , Credence thought, ignoring the small roil of fear in his gut that told him it was probably impossible with his lack of control. _I won’t let it get as bad as it was before._ But even as he sipped the tea, its warmth could do nothing to alleviate the small, cold fist of uncertainty that had tightened right next to his heart.

 

“So, how's everything been going for your book?” Tina asked, taking a sip of her tea. Credence was glad to see the fine lines of worry that had been obvious on her face had smoothed themselves away.

 

Newt’s gaze slipped away from Credence, who felt the loss as though a warm hand had lifted from his shoulder. The conversation shifted from him to other things and Credence watched the proceedings with fading concentration, wanting but still unable to speak. He knew it was on behalf that they were all here, but he had seemingly lost his voice. He was so exhausted he could barely make thoughts form, let alone words.

 

Lulled by the warmth of the room and the hot tea, he allowed himself to sink back into the comfortable leather and watch as everyone else caught up. And though he struggled against it, soon the exhaustion that had set heavily upon him earlier finally managed to pull itself over him again. Evening drew darker grey across the clouded sky and filled the room with its softening light until at last he slipped under the heavy hand of sleep, darkness closing around him like a soft cloak thrown over the world.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Credence woke, suddenly and rather violently wrenched into consciousness. He sat up, shoving the blankets on top of him into a pile on the floor. They were too _heavy_ and they caught on his feet and he kicked them off, feeling panicked. For a moment the dark room spun around him, wildly unfamiliar, full of the smell of woodsmoke and old books.

 

A fire burned low in a nearby grate, red coals glowing but not throwing much light. For a terrifying second, he had no idea where he was. His harsh breaths were the only sound in the dark room.

 

His panicked mind thought just one word, dragged up from his fast-fading dream, _Hell_.

 

“Credence?”

 

Credence spun around so quickly he nearly fell off the couch. Behind him, Newt stood holding a lit candelabra that sent a soft glow over his face and made his red hair shine like copper.

 

Warm relief flooded through Credence at his familiar face, pushing back the fear that had followed him out of the dream. His wildly beating heart began to slow, though he could feel how his shirt clung to his sweat-slicked skin.

 

“Are you alright?” Newt asked. With a wave of his wand, candles set all around the room and in the chandelier above came alight, filling the room with a soft golden glow.

 

Credence blinked and looked around, recognizing the strange shapes that had leered out at him from the shadows, now made everyday by the light. Though he thought he should have been afraid at the sudden show of magic, it instead brought him nothing but relief.

 

“Y-yes, I’m fine,” Credence said in a weak voice, suddenly aware of how his chest was heaving with each of his breaths. “It was just-just a bad dream.”

 

Newt paused, then asked, “Is it something you want to talk about?”

 

Credence shook his head quickly.

 

The worlds that had melded together in his dream, real and unreal overlapping until it was difficult to tell where one started and the other finished, began to pull apart until the real world settled around him again, warm and filled with light. He had clearly fallen asleep on the couch in Newt’s apartment. The details of the dream that had terrified him were already beginning to slip away. 

 

 _You're safe_ , he reminded himself, hands clenching the supple leather of the couch, and he was surprised at how true it felt.

 

“It’s okay, I-I don’t remember it,” Credence said, trying to come up with an excuse. He touched his sweaty temple with one finger, wishing he didn't feel so disheveled. “I just didn't know where I was for a second. I-I'm sorry to have alarmed you.”

 

“That's alright. You were quite un-alarming, in fact.” Newt waved an awkward hand over his shoulder at the desk behind him, where, to Credence’s surprise, a large grey owl sat. Its dark eyes reflected the light as it stared unblinkingly at them, very still. “I was just writing to one of my old professors, so I was already awake in any case.”

 

Newt shifted over to put the candelabra on his desk and the grey owl ruffled its feathers and gave him what Credence thought was a reproachful look.

 

"Your professors?" Credence asked, running a surreptitious hand over the sides of his face, which were still damp with sweat. Newt's back was to him, as he tied what looked to be a small, tightly rolled scroll to the leg of the owl with a bit of twine. "From Hogwash?" 

 

Newt laughed unexpectedly, and looked over his shoulder at Credence. "Tina and Queenie told you about Hogwarts, then, did they?" 

 

Credence felt his face flush at the mistake. "Sorry," he mumbled, hands tightening into the leather of the couch. Of course it wasn't called  _hogwash_. "I thought that's what Queenie called it."

 

"Oh, she said that to me, too," Newt said, sounding unconcerned as he finished the knot around the owl's leg. The bird spread its considerable wings and flapped up to sit on Newt's shoulder, nipping slightly at Newt's ear.

 

"I don't know what the Founders were thinking when they named it, always seemed too easy a joke to me." He crossed the room to one of the large windows and opened the latch, swinging the window open. With a great flapping of wings, the owl took off into the muted night, disappearing easily into the faded lights of the city below. "I suppose I can ask Professor Dumbledore for you if he responds to my letter."

 

Before Credence could puzzle out who Professor Dumbledore was, or wrap his head around the idea that Newt had just entrusted a letter to an owl, Newt spoke. “I was just about to go check on my creatures, would you like to come?” When Credence hesitated, confused, Newt looked over his shoulder and continued, an entreaty in his voice, “I could use some of your help, if you’re able.”

 

“O-Okay,” Credence replied, though he didn't quite understand what Newt meant by ‘creatures.' Perhaps there were more owls. Any distraction at this point, however, when sweat was beginning to dry on his neck and his heartbeat was still close under his skin, was quite welcome.

 

At his words, excitement flashed across Newt’s face. He grabbed the small suitcase Credence recognized from where it lay propped up against the desk and set it on the floor with a small flourish. A small grin spread over his face as he put one hand on top of the scratched brown leather, patting the suitcase fondly and looking up at Credence.

 

“Everything in here is perfectly safe, I assure you. But if anything frightens you, let me know.” Newt turned down to the suitcase and unhitched the locks, which snapped open with a _click_ that almost made Credence jump. “Also, any questions. Don’t be afraid to ask.” Though Newt spoke cheerily enough, his words were strangely ominous, as was the fact that he patted where his wand was held in a makeshift holster on his hip.

 

Credence stood and circled the couch towards Newt, though he still stood several paces back. When Newt lifted the top of the suitcase, he half-expected a monstrous beast to come flying out of it and begin attacking them, but the room remained empty. The suitcase just looked like a regular suitcase, so Credence was surprised when Newt stood up and placed his foot into it.

 

Credence blinked quickly, because what he saw next didn’t make any sense. Newt put his other foot in the suitcase and sunk even further in, his trouser-clad shins disappearing from sight as if he were descending through a trapdoor in the floor. Newt had taken a couple more steps, until he had vanished up to his waist in the suitcase, before he looked back up at Credence, who was staring back at him, astonished.

 

The grin had widened in reaction to Credence’s astonishment. “Follow me, but be careful. The ladder can be a bit tricky so just hold onto the bar, here, above the door when you come in.” He pointed to something beyond Credence’s sight. Credence took a few shaky steps towards him until he could see Newt was pointing to something that would be hanging to the underside of the floor next to the suitcase, if the two were joined.

 

Before Credence could ask him any questions, however, namely _how any of this was possible,_ Newt’s ginger head had disappeared into the suitcase and Credence was left alone in the living room, staring at what looked to be like a hole straight through to the floor below.

 

Trepidation made him pause for a moment, looking down into the blackness at the bottom of the suitcase. It could be dangerous, he knew, though in reality he had no idea what to expect. Magic seemed to have so few limitations on it that he felt as though he could descend the stairs into the suitcase and end up halfway around the world again.

 

The curiosity that had begun to burn in him the moment Newt had put it down on the floor became stronger. Already, his heartbeat was beginning to thrum loudly in his ears and for a moment he felt pinned in place, unable to back away from the situation, but not able to go forward either.

 

Finally, he took a shaky breath and, holding onto the sides of the suitcase to brace himself, lowered himself gingerly into the dark.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Madame President, I’ve checked on Grindelwald’s statements,” said Auror Spade, and Picquery looked up slowly from her work, barely able to hide her slight jump. It had been days since her interview with Grindelwald, and still she found herself on edge for reasons she couldn’t explain.

 

“Take a seat, Ms. Spade,” Picquery said in a calm voice, and the goldenwood chair in front of her desk slid invitingly towards the Auror. After a split second of hesitation that Picquery noted with a bitter smile, Spade sat, balancing a thick file on her lap. Picquery regarded her with a critical eye. “And what have you discovered?”

 

“So far, everything he’s said has checked out as true,” Spade said, and Picquery’s heart sank, just a little.

 

It was ridiculous to hold onto the hopes she still nurtured, she knew, but it was possible one of the worst Dark wizards she had ever met might lie. Picquery steepled her fingers in front of her face and tried not to let her disappointment show that Grindelwald was turning out to be a much better source than she wanted him to be.

 

“But there are some… inconsistencies.”

 

Picquery raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Mr. Grindelwald’s information _is_ wrong?”

 

“Not precisely. While his information is correct, in trying to corroborate it, I’ve run across one or two things in the paperwork that… frankly, they seem questionable.”

 

Picquery’s heart sank even further in her chest. She could read the expression on Spade’s face perhaps better than she should have been able to.

 

Spade’s sharp eyes were on her superior’s face as she put the thick file on the desk and opened it to the first page, which had a black and white photo pinned to it. Even upside down, Picquery could tell it was an Ilvermorny class photo, the children all lined up on raised bleachers and shifting restlessly. It looked nearly the same as Picquery’s own, though the date stamped across the bottom was earlier.

 

“I checked with some of Graves’ classmates that were in his grade in Ilvermorny, and it is true, what Grindelwald said about Graves having very few friends. Not much has changed there, I guess.” Spade huffed a little humorless laugh.

 

“I spoke to Dreyfuss and Almaden in the Law department, and they said they barely knew him, though he was in their class and House. Everyone I ran across agrees with what Grindelwald said, that there was really only one person he was close to at any point.”

 

Spade tapped the photo in the center, where two students were whispering together in the middle row. Both had dark hair, the girl's in a long braid that disappeared into the black of her uniform, and the boy’s in a familiar widow’s peak over a smooth brow.  

 

“That's Olivia.”

 

Just as the flash whitened the page the girl turned and gave the camera a vivacious smile. Next to her, Graves looked serious at 15 as he had at 35.

 

“So you found her?” Picquery resisted the urge to lean forward and inspect the photo more closely. “Have you spoken with her?”

 

Spade shook her head, her brow crinkling in confusion. “No one seemed to know what happened to her. I've been able to figure out that they were close throughout school and they graduated at the same time. Right after graduation, Graves started working here, you know, with his father in the Office of Magical Defense.”

 

Spade sighed. “But the girl, there was no record of where she might have gone. No jobs, no marriages, nothing. I thought that was odd. No one just up and disappears, right?

 

“So I thought maybe she went abroad, but Morden in Immigration reported no record of her leaving the country. So she still had to be here, then, and I went into the Vault to see if we had _anything_ , and here’s the thing… I found something. The original copies of some papers.”

 

Spade flipped over a couple of pages and then handed over the file to Picquery, her face grave. “I couldn’t understand why the copies we had on hand were gone, but the originals were there in the Vault. I made some more copies of the papers I thought were _interesting_.”

 

Picquery’s face was immobile, her thoughts running double time behind her eyes. Very few people needed access to the Vault, for the simple reason that most paperwork kept upstairs was untampered with, and the originals were never needed.

 

 _You know what this means, you know, Seraphina, don’t turn away now,_ she thought, and forced herself to look at the official MACUSA order on top.

 

 

 

 

> ORDER TO MODIFY MEMORY OF PERSON(S) MAGICAL AND/OR NON-MAGICAL
> 
> July 5th, 1901
> 
> PERSON(S):
> 
> Olivia Julietta Rosecliff, witch
> 
> & Weston Roman Rosecliff, non-magical person
> 
> REASON:
> 
> Egregious breach of Rappaport’s Law (see, attached Exhibits 1-7, 9)
> 
> Possible violation of International Statute of Secrecy (unsubstantiated)

 

Behind the order were several more: a New York State Marriage License with the same two names written in looping cursive, an apartment lease agreement, and another black-and-white photo, this one a No-Maj photo whose subjects remained stationary.

 

Picquery picked up the last photo and looked at the pretty face of the tall, dark-haired woman and the man who stood next to her, arms around her waist. His top hat and the cut of his three piece suit were so old-fashioned the photo was obviously from decades ago. But as Picquery stared at the cut of his square jaw and his heavy, dark brow, an odd feeling of familiarity stirred in the back of her mind, as if she had seen him in passing once or twice before.

 

“It’s… it’s her,” Spade said, and Picquery blinked, the name she had on the tip of her tongue shaken from her mind. “It’s Olivia. She disappeared after graduation, right? Well, she disappeared because she had fallen in love with a No-Maj.”

 

Picquery schooled her expression as flat and unaffected as she could, though questions roiled in her about this strange turn of events.

 

Spade shuffled the papers. “Someone must have destroyed the copy of this order upstairs. Someone with access to those files. See, by the time we found out, they had already married, without the knowledge of their parents. Or anyone else in the community. Effectively, the damage was already done.”

 

“That would never have been allowed. The law is clear,” Picquery said somewhat unnecessarily, barely holding back her resentment at the clear implication of who that _someone_ was in Spade’s tone. With two fingers she covered the young and happy faces of the couple in the photograph, an unnamed dread filling her at the knowing twist to Spade’s lips.

 

“Yes, I know. That’s what I thought,” Spade said. “But the papers speak for themselves. Instead of separating them and modifying the memory of the man she had fallen in with, it seems it was offered-- and she agreed-- to undergo memory modification herself.” Picquery’s fingers dug into the photograph, nails digging into the thick paper. “At the same time, she also agreed to have her wand destroyed.”

 

“No,” Picquery breathed involuntarily, almost unaware of her own voice.

 

Alarm raced through her as she took the second official MACUSA order from Spade, her shocked gaze barely taking in the words at the top of the paper.

 

 

 

 

> ORDER TO CONFISCATE/DESTROY/OTHERWISE RENDER INOPERABLE THE WAND OF (A) MAGICAL PERSON(S)
> 
> July 5, 1901
> 
> PERSON(S):
> 
> Olivia Julietta Rosecliff, witch (b. 1883)
> 
> WAND:
> 
> 1 (one) - elm, 13 and ¼ in, dragon heartstring wand (destroyed)
> 
> REASON:
> 
> Egregious breach of Rappaport’s Law, in conjunction with Memory Modification Order (see, attached Form 1692F-2)

 

It was as though Picquery was watching the slow unspooling of her carefully wrought life, unable to grasp at the strings as they slipped from her. The dread that had lingered in the distance, just beyond her, began to yawn darkly open beneath her, threatening to suck her straight into its depths. “We don’t allow that. We've never allowed that.”

 

“No, we don’t. But if you look at the name on the paper…”

 

Picquery leaned in closer to the paper and recognized the signature immediately. The fact that it was not Graves’ own was only the smallest comfort. “Mr. Burr. The last Director of Magical Security.”

 

Picquery dredged up the little that she knew about the man, who had retired early on in her career and with whom her path had only very rarely crossed. “But that’s ridiculous, he hated the No-Majs. He never would have allowed that.”

 

“Yeah, I thought it was oddly sentimental for the old Scrooge, too. Let the girl go with her love, and all that. Not at all what I’ve heard about his style. But by that time, you see, Graves was already working under him and if Graves heard what was going on with his closest friend... With the senior Mr. Graves being Head Auror at the time and his mother just elected Vice-President-- well, I imagine that perhaps he had some… _pull_ with him.”

 

Spade didn’t sound the least bit convinced by the implausible argument that Graves had merely suggested this extreme deviance from MACUSA policy.

 

“In that sort of circumstance, the kid of two prominent officials asking, it would be hard for even old Burr to say no. And it's not as though she fought the order. She really did go through with the Obliviation, was allowed to stay with her No-Maj husband. There’s that record of her wand being destroyed, and some follow up reports of her, to make sure no one came right after to restore her memory or break the Statute.”

 

Picquery flipped through the pages once more, though the black and white script bled together into an unintelligible mess.The idea that Grindelwald might have somehow known all of this, that he led them straight to this seemed impossible, but there was no other explanation. She needed more time to deal with all of this, to figure out what it really all _meant_. “And then?”

 

“And then… her husband, the No-Maj, died. And she died a couple years later, very young, only about 25, according to the files in City Hall. We stopped watching her about a year after the Obliviation so we only just found it out now.”

 

Picquery tapped the name on the paper with one long finger, then flipped the file closed. Spade had crossed her arms over her chest and was regarding her boss in a way that gave Picquery the distinct feeling of being the subject of a very pointed disapproval.

 

At the look, a bristle of irritation rose across Picquery’s shoulders.

 

 _I am still the President of the Magical Congress of the United States,_ she reminded herself, straightening herself minutely. Picquery interlaced her fingers and dropped her clasped hands down on top of the file, her voice hard when she spoke. “I agree that this is tragic and undoubtedly very illuminating in determining Mr. Graves’ character, but I fail to see what else it proves. We cannot prove he had anything to do with this… questionable choice of punishment.”

 

A slow smile cut into Spade’s face, as if she had expected the challenge. “Not with Mr. Graves, directly, that's true. Right now we have no idea if they ever saw each other past graduation at Ilvermorny.”

 

Icy cold began to rise through Picquery’s spine at the glint of satisfaction in Spade’s eyes. There was a beat of silence that she knew Spade wanted her to fill with a, “But?” and she refused to play along. Instead she looked stonily back at the Auror, willing herself not to react.

 

Spade shifted back, relaxing into her chair. “Olivia Rosecliff moved into a tenement building after she married. At the time we weren’t really concerned as to who else lived there, as they were all No-Majs, but I went back and checked the other residents at the time, and... I found someone familiar.”

 

She directed her wand almost carelessly at the file, which slid sharply from under Picquery’s hands and flipped open to the last page.

 

A pale, unyielding face stared out of the No-Maj photograph pinned to the final page of the file. Picquery looked into those familiar blue eyes of piercing coldness, staring out of an otherwise delicately round, almost-friendly face.

 

“Mary Lou Barebone lived next door to the Rosecliffs in that tenement building,” Spade said.

 

 _Why are you still so much trouble, even beyond the grave?_ Picquery silently asked, her mind already racing towards the inevitable arrests she'd have to make, the investigation that would have to go through every floor and sub-basement of MACUSA, even into the President’s office itself. She knew it would hardly be possible to keep the investigation from spiraling out of control, let alone a quiet affair.

 

It was only then Picquery realized that, for the first time, Graves was far beyond her help.

 

When Spade spoke next, there was a hardness in her voice that belied her words. “It just so happens that Olivia Rosecliff died right before Barebone moved into the New Salem Church with her first adopted son, Credence. That's a nice coincidence.”

 

For a moment, everything around Picquery drew to a stop as the weight of the words sunk through her. The possibility that Graves knew the Barebones, knew the boy when he was young, had covered up so much, destroyed records, influenced MACUSA officials, had committed so many misdeeds, as he looked Picquery straight in the face and swore to uphold the Articles--

 

And for a moment it seemed as though the expression of the woman in the photograph shifted to a grim satisfaction, a cruel hint of a smile on an otherwise cheerless face.

 

 _You played the fool too long for that man, turned a blind eye to too much,_ Picquery thought, a cold sort of anger flooding her.

 

Then a strange sense of unwilling certainty made her rise in a fluid motion, her hands braced on her desk. She could not even look at the file that lay open in front of her, but forced herself to look straight at Spade as if it would keep her from falling, from doing something foolish like Apparate straight to Graves’ hospital room and ask him, face to face-- _What, Seraphina? What could you possibly ask that man and expect the truth? After all these years, you know him less than you know Gellert Grindelwald himself._

 

As she loomed over Spade, Picquery said in a steady, even tone, “Go secure Mr. Graves’ hospital room. He cannot be allowed to leave.”

 

When Spade didn't move at once, Picquery pointed a slim finger at the door, vaguely aware and glad her hand was not shaking. Her voice seemed to fill the room when she spoke, calm and authoritative. “Now.”

 

To her relief, Spade hurried out the door, leaving Picquery alone in her office.

 

She turned to look up at the skylight, her thoughts blurring together in a mess she couldn't begin to parse out. Through the delicate grille an illuminating silvery grey light fell, giving soft edges to the goldenwood bookshelves stacked with ancient textbooks, and made the magical artifacts from across the world glimmer lowly. The room was filled with a soft, still sort of waiting.

 

The space around her had been home to every office of the President since the beginning of the Magical Congress; the gold and lapis lazuli floor had been tread by several centuries of the best witches and wizards the continent had ever seen. Once, it had given her comfort, encouragement, for she had been one of the best. Now it seemed to echo with the dread silence, quietly condemning, and she wondered how long it would remain hers.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Credence edged down the shaky wooden ladder with his heart beating hard in his ears. As he descended, the soft, close darkness lifted into space and warmth and light. At the last rung he turned around and blinked, taken aback at his surroundings, which had expanded around him to the look of a small, well lived-in chemist’s shop.

 

Hanging pots swung above and around him, spilling over with unfamiliar, crawling plants that shifted with an invisible breeze. A desk set in the nearby wall was even messier than the one upstairs, piled high with papers and books, with a small camp bed beneath it that looked recently slept in. Small wooden drawers were crammed together straight up to the ceiling, every one affixed with a tiny label in scratchy handwriting. When Credence drew nearer, he saw that the faded anatomical charts stuck between the shelves were of fantastical creatures he had never seen before.

 

Newt, however, was nowhere in sight.

 

Credence walked cautiously through the small room, careful to step over tattered boxes set carelessly in the middle of the path. As he pulled aside the heavy burlap curtain in the corner, he felt the brush of something against his cheek. He looked over just enough to see the tendrils of a plant hanging across the room pulling away from him, waving softly as it curled back up.

 

Without thinking and flushed with an excited fear, he dove through the curtain. To his amazement he stepped into, rather than another small room, an immense, nearly limitless space. He stopped abruptly and looked in awe up at the darkened ceiling which had taken on the aspect of a starry sky, complete with a waning moon high on the horizon and flanked by an array of pale stars.

 

“Ah, you're here,” a voice from behind him said, and Credence jerked around to see Newt striding towards him. His arms seemed to be filled with buckets of steaming _something_ that gave off a very peculiar smell, and there was what looked to be a large grey towel over one shoulder.

 

Credence touched his cheek where the plant had brushed its leaves, his skin hot under his hand. “Y-your plant touched me,” he said, though he wasn't even sure it was possible for plants to make a decision like that.

 

Newt raised his eyebrows, looking oddly pleased. “Oh, that's just the Felicitae Filitatus, she always says hello. She’s a friendly one. Can you help me carry this?” he asked and held out one of the buckets towards Credence.

 

“Uh, yes, sir,” Credence said, taken off guard by the request. He automatically reached out to take the bucket, which turned out to be a lot heavier than he thought. Newt had hardly seemed to strain to carry it and yet Credence had to grab it with both hands.

 

Even so, his grip slipped on the handle and he ended up slopping some of the odd-smelling substance inside all over his shoes. In the moment that followed Credence simultaneously wondered if it was safe to leave the slightly steaming liquid on his shoes and if Queenie and Tina would be mad about the new shoes they had gotten him.

 

Before he could ask either question, Newt was calling him from several yards away, “C’mon, over here.”

 

Heaving the bucket along with a bit more care, he followed Newt dutifully through the wide open workspace. They passed what looked to be a huge nest set on the ground whose occupants chirruped like birds as he drew near. Credence caught a flash of brilliant blue feathers in the shadows before he nearly tripped on something and had to turn away.

 

Most of the expansive space was rather quiet in the facsimile of night, only the odd hoot or rustling coming from what looked to be trees in the distance.

 

He wondered how many creatures Newt kept here, if he had room enough for a miniature forest. Before he could work up the courage to ask, Newt had hopped up onto the wooden porch that rimmed the central space and dropped his bucket next to the entrance set in the canvas wall. He turned, motioning for Credence to follow.

 

“C'mon, I'll introduce you to our resident Erumpent. She's probably asleep at the moment so she shouldn't make too much of a fuss.” He took the bucket from Credence, then reached out a hand to him.

 

Credence hesitated a moment, then took Newt’s hand.

 

He felt his breath go out of his chest as Newt lifted him several feet up onto the deck without any effort from Credence himself. As Newt's strong, calloused hand pulled him close, an odd swooping sensation flew low in his stomach, and for a moment they were standing only inches apart on the deck, of a height with each other.

 

Credence could hear his heartbeat in his ears and buzzing through his skin. He was sure his breath was louder than it had been before, obvious in the quiet space, as if the sound of anything but him or Newt had been momentarily silenced. They were so close in the half-dark that Credence could see the tawny spray of freckles across Newt’s cheeks, could almost feel Newt’s chest rising and falling with his breath.

 

Before he could figure out what he was thinking, Newt had released his hand and taken a step back. For a brief moment, Credence was seized by the desire to pursue him, wrap his arms around Newt’s middle and pull them close together again. He wanted that warmth, the fall of that reassuring hand on his back.

 

And all at once he was standing again in the stone confines of an alley, so close to another man, the brush of a heavy wool coat silken against his newly-healed hands. The expensive cologne he wore in those last few months faded into the night as he did, that same desire of closeness following on the man's heels. 

 

With the thought of Graves, the dream broke as though snapped in half by its own weight. Credence could feel himself pull back, flushing with shame, closing hard back into himself as if a hand forming into a fist.

 

He wanted to take it back, that slight lean towards Newt, throat caught tight, that rising anticipation that had surged involuntarily through him. He shouldn’t thought any of that, none of it. He thought he had changed, could control it, ignore it, but clearly nothing was different.

 

For a long moment, Newt couldn’t seem to look at him. It seemed obvious he was uncomfortable at the close proximity, Credence thought, and he couldn’t blame him.

 

Newt cleared his throat and smiled, though the gesture was more awkward than cheerful and his cheeks seemed flushed even in the dark.

 

“Let’s go meet the Erumpent,” he said briskly, and motioned to Credence to follow him through the canvas door.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for being patient and I hope Newt and Credence finally being in the same room has made up for a bit of a long wait. Lots of family things and life made making time for writing difficult but this chapter is a bit longer than the others and I hope you enjoyed it (or made it this far). <3 Next chapter will have lots more old friends from Harry Potter feature in it! Happy Belated Valentine's Day <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 1st of September to all new Hogwarts students (Al and Scorpius and Rose, I'm looking at you)! This chapter is entirely focused on Credence, so... enjoy.

 

 

Credence followed Newt through the canvas door with only slight trepidation. As they stepped into the enclosure, it felt as though the entire world shifted around them. The night lifted abruptly into a soft, blue-grey dawn and an arid warmth blushed his cheeks as if he were standing only feet from a coal-fired boiler. All other thoughts fled as he stared, astonished, at the wide, flat savannah spreading out in front of them.

 

It looked exactly like the pictures of Africa he had seen sometimes in newsreels or magazines, but brushed lightly with color. The uneven ground lay yellowed and topped by pale, scrubby plants. A breeze brushed across his face, full of the scent of sunburnt soil and the crushed sweetness of some foreign grass.

 

“Are we in Africa?” he asked before he could think of what he was saying. Embarrassed, he clamped his mouth shut, thankful that Newt’s back was turned. Of course it was possible, he thought, to have travelled so far in so short a space of time with magic, but hadn’t Tina _said_ jumping from continent to continent was dangerous?

 

“Still in England, I'm afraid,” Newt replied briskly as he leaned over to heave up one of the buckets, “but that was the intention, so good eye, there.”

 

He adjusted his grip on the handle  and started at a quick pace through the low grass. Credence grabbed his own bucket and hurried to keep up as Newt continued to talk.

 

“The Erumpent is originally from the African plain, a bit like rhinoceros territory?" Newt looked over his shoulder at Credence, who tried to appear attentive. "I don't know if you know about them, but if you do, well.” Newt waved a bit dismissively at the expanse with his free hand, and shrugged. He seemed almost embarrassed to talk about it.

 

“Er, I wanted her to feel at home as possible, so I tried to make it look as similar as I could. The plants, the soil, the weather, all that. Not my best work but I think it looks alright.”

 

Credence looked up at the dark grey sky blanketing the endless plain, finding it difficult to believe he was actually _standing inside a travelling case_ and not on a different continent _._ Why magic of this calibre would only be considered ‘alright,’ he had no idea.

 

“Um, it really looks like it. I think so. I-- it’s _great_ ,” he said. “Can all wizards make things like this?”

 

“No--well, yes.” Newt paused. “I'd say yes. In theory, anyone could learn to. Just not all do.”  

 

Credence could barely understand it. It seemed fantastical that all of this was true. He took it all in, the smell of the powdery dirt, the low burr of some unseen insects hidden in the grass, even the breeze.

 

All of this was real-unreal, crafted by Newt's hand from nothingness. And as he gazed around the enormous space, feeling somewhat overwhelmed, he realized that the best part was perhaps one day he could learn how to do all of this himself.

 

“Why don't they?" he whispered to himself, in awe. "It's amazing.”

 

The part of Newt's profile that Credence could see turned a bit pink, and he flashed a pleased look over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

 

Credence flushed with warmth and ducked his head. “You're welcome,” he mumbled.

 

 _Stop that,_ he berated himself, the embarrassment making him misstep and slosh more of the peculiar-smelling liquid all over his already-dusty shoes. _Pay attention to your work._  But though he tried, he couldn’t quite suppress the ebullient feeling blooming in his chest. 

 

“Have you ever been there, to?” Credence swallowed, aware of how hard he was breathing as he tried to keep a steady pace behind Newt and not trip over the rocks that kept appearing in his path. “To Africa?”

 

Newt nodded. “Quite a few times, actually. Once or twice a few years ago, when I was first out of Hogwarts. And then again about four or five months ago, I was there for a few weeks and I--” Newt paused, seeming to catch his breath.

 

With a heave, he transferred the bucket to his other hand, his free hand coming up to scratch at the side of his face. Under the softly rolled sleeve of his shirt, his muscles flexed as he gripped the handle more tightly. Credence blinked, and realized that Newt had started talking again.

 

“Er, well, suffice to say I got distracted from my original purpose. There was a Fwooper colony that I ran across that had managed to fill an entire village with its nests and the whole town had gone a bit mad."

 

A rueful smile curled a corner of his lips. "They're not bad birds, Fwoopers, just tricky when you don't know they're there and all you can feel is a bit off when they sing, so I had to... ah, here we are.”

 

They had made it to the muddy edge of a large watering hole, its shore edged with scraggly-looking bushes. Sweat had already begun to sheen Credence’s brow from the unexpected heat and exertion and he gratefully followed Newt’s lead in dropping the buckets at the jagged shore. It was telling, as his hands stung from the weight and his breath came quickly, how long it had been since last he worked.

 

Newt dusted his large palms onto his trousers and crouched down at the shore. He touched several deep imprints in the slick mud, a frown pressing into the corners of his mouth. Credence was just about to ask for an explanation of the ‘Fwoopers,’ whatever those were, and could they possibly avoid them, if that were at all within the realm of possibility, when Newt made a pleased sound and stood.

 

“She doesn't look like she's been here in a while, so we have time. No need for the padding or the helmet, then."

 

"The what?" Credence asked, thrown. 

 

Newt tilted his head, unconcerned. "The smell of the essence _can_ make her a bit rowdy but since it's been so long since she's been by--”

 

Credence let out a strangled, “Mr. Scamander!” and pointed over Newt’s shoulder. Newt cut off and spun around to peer into the hazy, dusky light.

 

At first, Credence wasn't even sure what he was looking at, because it didn't seem to make sense. Whatever it was, was impossibly large, and had appeared seemingly from nowhere. But no matter how he blinked, the image didn't change. A hulking dark form was lumbering in their direction across the slowly lightening plain, its heavy gait indicating a being of great size.

 

Far larger than even the great draft horses that had once dominated the streets of New York, it continued to grow in size the closer it came. It was like staring down an oncoming train, the relentlessly powerful engine making even the most intimidating person seem tiny in comparison. As the oncoming shadow solidified itself into a flesh and bone creature, Credence swore he could hear every one of its grunting breaths. It looked like nothing Credence had ever seen before, with a terrifying horn jutting hugely into the sky and a hulking body that made the ground shudder with its every step.

 

When Credence thought of creatures that Newt might keep in his case, he hadn’t thought-- he hadn’t thought of anything as big as _that_.

 

Credence took one step back, feeling as though his whole body had gone ice cold. Newt, however, didn't seem nearly as concerned.

 

“No need to worry, we’ll be done in just a moment,” Newt said as bent to pick up the buckets and began to quickly throw their contents one by one into the watering hole. As the mysterious substance hit the surface of the water, it started to steam furiously, filling the air around them with the peculiar smell.

 

As if it, too, had scented it, the creature in the distance let off a rumbling bellow and began to _run_ towards them.

 

Ice shot straight through to Credence’s knees, making his movements jerky as he took another step back.

 

“Mr. Scamander…” Credence whispered, wanting to yell, but unable to speak any louder.

 

Newt had knelt in the mud, and was now fiddling with some small vial he had produced from one of his many pockets. He leaned over to dribble some of the contents of the vial into the water, muttering something quietly to himself. He seemed completely oblivious to the danger approaching them.

 

Credence’s quickly beating heart, however, felt somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He could do nothing but watch as the creature tossed its great head and let loose another resounding snort. He could have been mistaken, but he swore it had picked up speed. There was no way that creature wasn't going to come barrelling straight into them like a runaway train and crush them flat.

 

Credence came quickly to a decision-- he couldn’t just leave Newt here to be trampled by his own creature, only a day after they had finally met again.

 

“Newt--” Credence took a half-step forward, and his fingers just brushed the sleeve of Newt’s shirt. “C’mon, let’s go!”

 

Credence felt as though he was going to burst from the tension. He could hear every one of the creature’s breaths now, it was barely the length of two blocks away, and Newt was taking _too long_.

 

Just as Credence took another step forward and his hand closed on Newt’s elbow, Newt stood. With a quick swipe across the buckets with his wand, they were clean and into his hands.

 

“Alright, c’mon,” Newt said briskly. He turned, his elbow slipping from Credence’s grasp.

 

With a casual wave to follow, Newt began to stride back towards the entrance of the enclosure. After a moment, Credence was right behind him. His legs now felt mostly like jelly, which made the uneven ground difficult to navigate, but at least his breaths didn't feel as though they were being drawn in through a tiny straw.

 

Credence quickened his steps until they were walking side-by-side. “Mr. Scamander, do you think we should hurry? The Erup--Erumpent doesn’t look like it’s going to stop.”

 

“Hmm?” Newt raised a quizzical brow at him, and then they both glanced back to the watering hole.

 

Credence noted with some relief that the beast’s lumbering gait had slowed abit. It was only a couple of lengths away from the pond and grunting loudly, though with anger or pleasure he couldn’t tell.

 

Crucially, however, it hadn't _stopped_.

 

Newt shrugged, the empty buckets in his hands clanging together. His stride never faltered. “Oh, it’ll be alright. She’s just excited. She’ll stop when she gets to the essence, that’s all she really cares about now.”

 

Credence tried to reassure himself with this expert opinion. No one knew these creatures better than Newt, he was sure. Even Tina had admitted that Newt was the best in his field, so far as she was aware. If Newt said the Erumpent would stop, she'd stop.

 

Nonetheless, he picked up his pace a bit. There was nothing wrong with being a _little_ bit more cautious.

 

His breathing was just about returning to normal when his gaze caught on something odd. As he stared down at his feet, he realized with sharp swoop of dread that he had sloshed whatever was in that pail all over his shoes and trousers earlier _._ Absolutely everywhere below his knees was soaked through. Steam rose from his legs just as from the pond behind them, and gave off the same odd smell.

 

He opened his mouth to tell Newt, but hesitated. _Does it matter?_ _It’s such a small amount that it might not._

 

Credence shot a look at Newt’s calm profile, then down at his steaming trousers. _It’ll be okay,_ he told himself, trying to soften the sudden iron clench of anxiety. _We’re nearly at the exit._

 

However, he checked the Erumpent one last time, just to be sure.

 

She had stopped at the water's edge and put her great head close to snuffle at the surface of the pond. A second later, she reared back up.

 

In a terrifying motion, she turned her horned snout right in Credence’s direction. She took a few tentative steps, seemingly torn between diving into the pond and following the scent on his shoes.

 

Credence’s knees went liquid and he stumbled, nearly falling, as his feet caught on the rough terrain. 

 

Newt looked over at the sound of the scuffle. "Are you alright?"

 

 _Oh, God. Tell him! Even if he gets mad, tell him._ Necessity squeezed the words past Credence’s impulse to remain quiet. “Mr. Scamander. My shoes. She’s going to come after them.”

 

“What? Your shoes?” Newt looked down at Credence’s feet and blinked, then stopped abruptly. “Ah."

 

Ahead, Credence could see the slight ripple of the canvas entrance as it moved with the breeze. They were right at the edge of the enclosure. Should they really be doing this here, instead of outside?

 

Newt dropped the buckets on the ground with a dull clatter and drew his wand out from the holster on his hip. "That’s easy enough, don’t worry,” he said with a quick, bracing sort of confidence.

 

With another quick swipe of his wand, the essence disappeared as if it had never existed. Credence’s trousers were now perfectly clean and tidy. As he watched, his shoelaces rose up and tied themselves into neat double knots before settling back down onto his worn boots.

 

Newt nodded, seemingly satisfied. “See? All taken care of. No need to worry.”

 

But even as he said that, his hazel eyes flashed up to Credence’s to check for confirmation. His wand was still held at the ready.  

 

Credence looked over his shoulder at the Erumpent. She shook her head and took a few steps back, nosing around in the air as if still confused. After a moment of this contemplation, she clearly gave up. She happily launched herself into the pond with a great splash and drenched herself totally in mud.

 

Even as he watched, she keened loudly and rolled onto her back in the muck, her thick legs waving in the air. In moments, she seemed to have completely forgotten he was there.

 

Credence found himself nodding, at least (mostly) sure Newt was right this time. His knees still felt weak and his voice was still a bit lost, but those weren't any things Newt could fix. At least, he didn't think so.

 

“Excellent,” Newt said, stowing his wand back into its holster at his hip. His gaze immediately dropped from Credence. “Let’s go take care of the Grindylows.”

 

Without a look back, he disappeared through the canvas flap, leaving Credence alone at the edge of the savannah.

 

After a long moment and several careful breaths, Credence managed to find his voice. “O-okay. Okay. I'm fine.”

 

His heartbeat was still beating loudly in his ears and his limbs felt shaky enough to drop him straight into the dirt. Instead of wanting to turn and run as fast as he could in the opposite direction, though, Credence almost felt the urge to laugh at the sight of the Erumpent. Hazily, he thought she might even be _cute._

 

Now that the danger was past, the whole scene seemed ridiculous, his fear almost pointless. Of course, there was magic. Of course, Newt could take care of himself and anyone who came into the case. He knew his creatures well, and he was a trained wizard. 

  

He just hoped the Grindylows were smaller.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Credence finally emerged from the suitcase, dawn had set the living room alight with a rosy glow.

 

“Newt, is that you?” a voice called from the next room, and a moment later Tina poked her head out the doorway. “Oh! G’morning Credence--” she paused, a surprised look on her face, evidently struck silent by the image Credence created.

 

Credence looked down at the remains of his dark blue suit, one of the two the sisters had given him in New York. Already rumpled from his night on the couch, it was now almost unrecognizable under a deep layer of grime and, probably, Fwooper dung. Whatever Newt had been able to clean off after the Erumpent had been completely erased by the end of the night.

 

Credence felt himself flush up to the tips of his ears. “I’m sorry, we were working with the Fwoopers and then Newt had me clean the...” he trailed off as Queenie poked her head around the corner behind her sister, her features falling into confusion.

 

He really hadn’t meant to get so dirty, but it seemed somewhat inevitable when you were tromping through the jungle, picking odd-looking fruit and shoveling feed into buckets. If he looked somewhat grimy, then Newt looked at least as bad, if not worse. At the time he had been working so hard he hadn’t even noticed the mess, had barely enough time to follow Newt’s somewhat inexplicable orders or try to identify a ‘brush hook’ from a ‘large-headed adze’ from amongst the huge array of tools stacked up or stored away in the case.

 

Queenie and Tina, however, didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the ruin he had made of their gifted clothes.

 

“Oh, dear,” Tina said, her voice light with amusement and just the slightest bit of worry. She smiled as she came over to Credence, Queenie close behind her. “We haven’t even been here a day and he’s already got you working for him.”

 

“I wanted to help,” Credence replied quietly. 

 

“Oh, honey, that's not what Teenie meant,” Queenie said, with her usual gift of cutting straight to someone else’s thoughts. “He's just shameless, that's all. Didn't even get to sleep in, you know." Suddenly, Queenie brightened, even more than her usual glow. "Did you get to meet the Niffler?”

 

Credence frowned, confused. There had been so many different animals Newt had referenced, he had begun to lose track of their names and features after about the sixth animal Newt had pointed out. And that had been within the first _hour_. “No, I don’t think so. But maybe, there were so many, I don't remember them all.”

 

Tina shared a private smile with her sister. “You would know it if you did. He’d have taken those buttons right off your shirt.”

 

Credence looked quickly down at the brass buttons on his waistcoat. They were all there and accounted for, at least as far as he could tell through the dirt.

 

Queenie stepped closer and Credence only had a moment’s notice before she reached up and lightly touched something right above his field of vision. He held himself very still as she picked something out of his hair and held it up in front of him.

 

It was a long, thin leaf that looked remarkably like one from the trees Credence had been working under in the suitcase. For a moment it hung limp in her grasp and then, as if aware of its audience, it stood straight to attention in the windless living room and waved slightly, as though it was saying ‘hello.’

 

The sisters caught each others gaze, then burst into laughter. Even Credence felt himself smile as the leaf wiggled almost happily to the sound of the laughter.

 

When they had calmed, Tina asked with a kind smile, "Want me to help clean you up?"

 

He nodded and closed his eyes. A quick rush of cool air brushed by, ruffling his hair and making his clothes ripple against him. It was miles softer than Newt's similar charm, which had felt a bit like a sharp breeze. When he opened his eyes and looked down at himself, his clothes were perfectly clean again, as if they had never even been worn.

 

“Perfect!” Queenie said, as Credence ran his fingers over the expertly ironed crease in his wool trousers, still amazed. “Are you hungry?”

 

Credence felt a smile tug at his lips at being asked. His stomach still swooped a little when he said, “Um, yes. Breakfast?”

 

It still felt strange to acknowledge it, but Tina and Queenie just beckoned for him to follow them into the kitchen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The food had already been served by the time Newt emerged from the suitcase. When he burst into the kitchen, looking bedraggled but aglow with satisfaction, he stopped short at the sight of them, as if he had forgotten why they were even there. A sharp-eared cat that he had introduced to Credence in the case as a ‘kneazle’ twined its way through his legs and jumped up onto the kitchen counter where it sat and regarded them all with an unimpressed stare.

 

“Good morning,” Tina said in a way that seemed to also say, _Yes, we’re really here. Do you want to sit down?_

 

“G’morning,” Newt said slowly. Though just as dirty as Credence had been, it looked normal on him. His hair stuck up in unruly tufts and his cheeks were slightly pinked with the exhausted flush of those who have stayed up all night.

 

There was a pause as his eyes roved over the spread on the table. After a moment of contemplation, however, he seemed to accept it as a _fait accompli._ He dropped himself into the last open chair next to Credence and reached out to grab a piece of toast from the pile. As he took a bite and chewed enormously, he regarded the plates of eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes and toast, all with a twist of confusion on his brow. “Thank you for breakfast. Didn’t realize I had anything in the icebox.”

 

Tina raised her eyebrows, then grinned slightly. “You didn't.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Credence,” Newt started, and Credence looked over to see him taking a large bite of toast.

 

Newt swallowed the last bit of toast in his mouth and continued with a little more surety this time. “I think that we should get you a wand.”

 

Automatically, Credence’s gaze cast over to where Newt’s wand was resting on the table next to his silverware. It looked innocent enough there, just a well-worn wooden stick, a little bit nicked but otherwise unmarked. And though he couldn't see them at the moment, he knew Tina’s wand was hidden in an inner pocket of her jacket, and Queenie’s up the long sleeve of her dress.

 

_A wand._

 

“--and every wizard has one. Provided you find one that fits you,” Newt was saying. He picked up his own wand and spun it absently between his fingers, his gaze on Credence. “Though I don't think Ollivander has ever failed to match a wand and a wizard in his time.”

 

Credence realized that Tina and Queenie had stopped eating and were watching him closely. He felt himself fall still under the scrutiny, as his thoughts tripped over themselves in their haste to make themselves known. Could he really have a wand? A sharp thrill went through him at the idea of it. 

 

He looked down at his pale hands, and the scars that-- though faint--remained, and imagined the slight heft of a wand in his grip. Would it feel like the rage and pain that barrelled out of him in a dark cloud, that heat pouring from him and leaving him frozen in its wake? Or would it be that sharp, white heat that seared into him in those last few moments in the subway, wands like bows and spells their arrows, the magic a wound that he would open every time he tried to do something?

 

Fear gripped his thoughts tight, yanked them back. _No. It wouldn’t be safe._

 

Tina turned to Newt, her thoughts somewhere near Credence’s own. “Really, Newt? A wand? Are you--do you really think it'll help?”

 

For a moment Newt looked somewhat unsure, before he brushed it off with a shrug and a characteristic lack of anxiety. “I don't see why not,” he replied. “Every wizard has a wand.”

 

This, Credence could tell as Tina's dark eyebrows dove towards each other and she opened her mouth to reply, was not an entirely convincing argument for Tina.

  

Queenie cut in before her sister could speak, settling her fork down on her plate with a quiet _clink_. “You said you’d ask your teacher about it, Newt. Did you hear back from him so quick?”

 

Newt shrugged mutely, picking up his teacup and spinning it slowly, as if he were thinking of something. His eyes didn’t quite meet Queenie’s. “Not yet. I don’t know about Professor Dumbledore, but I’ve been thinking quite a lot about it and it makes sense.”

 

“How?" Queenie asked, not unkindly. "I mean-- you said your professor might know more. Don't you think we should wait for him?” she encouraged, when Newt continued to stare at his teacup. 

 

Tina folded her hands together and leaned forward. Credence could tell she seemed to be trying to remain open-minded about the idea, though her brow remained troubled. “Explain it to us, Newt. That's the only thing we're asking.”

 

Newt sighed and looked up, his gaze flickering briefly over each of them in turn. 

 

“Alright,” he replied, seeming to come to a decision. 

 

He shifted closer to the table and lifted his wand. With a swirl of his wrist, the gas light overhead dimmed and then went completely out, throwing the room into half-shadow. For a brief second, the only source of light was the small window above the kitchen sink and the grubby skylight that was almost completely opaque. Then Newt flicked his wand and conjured a brilliant blue sphere from nothingness. It bobbed softly over the center of the table, its surface undulating with magical light. “The most we know about the Obscurus is that it's more or less a suppressed mass of magical energy that becomes more dangerous the longer it's suppressed.”

 

He looked around at the trio of them and when there was no contradiction, continued, “Well, my thought is that every wizard has that in some form or another. So the problem isn't with the magic itself, rather its use. Or 'not use.'" The sphere's outer edge rippled, as if disturbed by an unseen touch. "Usually wands help direct that outward, into spells, etcetera," Newt said, and several small pieces of light pulled free, flashing over the silverware and making the white plates glow with color before they disappeared, "whereas the Obscurus seems to direct itself inward.”

 

The sphere suddenly shrank into a small ball, its soft outer edge becoming hard and its brilliance intensifying. Credence felt an unexpected weight drop through his gut at the sight, as if he could feel the weight of the magic within him, becoming smaller and harder to carry at every moment. He could no longer look at it. The azure blue surface had become almost white and it was too painful, though just because of its appearance or something else, Credence couldn't tell. 

 

“Rather than keeping it contained within the body, where it’ll just get bottled up and be dangerous, a wand will allow some… release.” Newt spun his wand and the sphere slowly loosened itself, shooting off sharp sparks of light as it grew, until it had regained its former appearance. 

 

His gaze drifted over to Credence, who looked up from where he had been watching Newt’s hands. In the glow of the magic, Newt's eyes had gone dark, and as they met his, some unexpected feeling went through him. For some reason, he felt his cheeks start to burn and he looked away.

 

Newt tapped restlessly on the tabletop with his free hand. A moment later, the overhead light flickered on again, and with a final wave of his wrist, the sphere vanished.

 

For a moment there was silence in the room, no one wanting to be the first to speak. Tina’s dark eyes landed on each of them in turn, trying to gauge their thoughts. “So we don’t know if it’ll help him or hurt him,” she said slowly, and Queenie’s expression reflected her concern. “You’ve never tried anything like this before?”

 

“No,” Newt admitted. “The theory is solid, just in the other instances, there was never any time to test it out. This time-”

 

Tina’s mouth dropped open and she seemed almost speechless. Finally she managed a low “Test-!” that seemed even less convinced than before.

 

Newt fiddled with his teacup in its saucer with a clatter, his thoughts clearly far away from what his hands were doing. “Before, the Obscurials were too young to have any sort of control over their magic, too young to learn how to use a wand. It shouldn't be a problem now."

 

"It  _shouldn't_?" she repeated in disbelief.

 

"Yes, I think so. Credence is old enough.”

 

"You think."

 

A note of stubbornness sounded in Newt's voice. "Yes, I think."

 

Tina was silent, her fingers twisting her napkin into tight spirals before she crumpled it into her fist. “I do want to help, you know. I understand. It’s just that it can be very dangerous, Newt. For all of us. There are _reasons_ that unschooled wizards don’t try to use magic outside of school.”

 

Queenie cut in again, trying to quell the tension rising in the room. “When we were at Ilvermorny, we weren’t even allowed to take home our wands during vacations because we wouldn’t have the proper supervision.”

 

Newt raised his eyebrows in a way that indicated exactly what he thought about that. “You do have some interesting customs in America, though again I can’t quite say that I agree with your methods. It’s quite common here for wizarding families to let unqualified wizards use magic at home. Not technically allowed, I believe, but never really punished, either. How else would you learn?”

 

“Through real instructors and studying? Someone who knows how to teach these things? Who can help if something goes wrong? None of us have done that before, I don’t _think_.” Tina threw up her hands, clearly feeling that Newt wasn't convinced of her opinion. “A-and, we don’t even have any of our books!”  

 

Newt tilted his head. “I have some books on magical theory somewhere, and I think I might even have some of my schoolbooks with me,” he said almost to himself, as if he had forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation.

 

Tina’s eyes widened. “That’s _not_ what I meant. Even if you do, it's still--”

 

Newt looked at the open door to the living room and then stood up and strode out of the room.

 

"-dangerous," Tina finished.

 

He had moved so quickly he hit the table with his leg and rattled the dishes, his cup nearly falling over. Without thinking, Credence reached out to steady it. When he looked back up, Tina and Queenie were sharing a look that spoke volumes. Neither of them looked thrilled with Newt’s idea, and Credence felt his stomach sink a notch lower.

 

He had to admit it didn’t seem like the best idea right now. There were so many variables that could go wrong, probably _would_ go wrong.  What they had all called an Obscurus, that darkness… if he couldn’t control it, it would be a disaster. 

 

Inexplicably, as if he couldn't help it, however, his eyes drifted over the table to where Newt had left his wand. Its polished surface gleamed underneath the overhead light, its edges more well-worn than even the antique table below it. For a brief second, he allowed himself to imagine picking up the wand, the smooth wood possibly still warm from Newt’s hand.

 

 _Magic._ The thought shot through his mind like an electrical force. But almost as soon as he imagined it, the idea twisted and was overtaken by memory. _The subway. White lights. A sharp smell like recently-forged metal, or blood. Blinding pain that seemed to split the fine seal between his mind and his body, until he could no longer access either._

 

A sudden chill twisted in his core, as if summoned by his thoughts. His breath caught as the feeling bloomed through him, slower now than before, but just as inexorable. He clenched his jaw shut and dug his fingernails into his palms until the sharp pain settled him back into his body. Long moments passed as he forced the familiar feeling back down, away from the surface.

 

 _Think of something else,_ he commanded himself, trying to focus. What of the magic he had seen the others use? What if, like Newt, he would be able to point at objects and have them come zooming into his hands? like Tina, create light for when he had to walk home in the darkness? like Queenie, able to send warmth through his hands and feet when the winter crept through his shoes and gloves? That would be good, wouldn’t it?

 

It would be good. Magic would be good; it had to be. In all honesty, there would be no point to any of this if he couldn't learn some way of controlling that power, releasing that power before it overtook him from the inside out. Perhaps it wasn't the right time now, but in the future, soon, it could be. The cold settled into a hard ball in his stomach, contained, but discomfiting. He could do what he did for now, but something told him it wouldn’t be sufficient forever.

 

Tina touched his hand lightly and he was pulled from his thoughts.

 

“I hope you understand, Credence,” she said, her dark eyes soft as they met his. Her concern was clear, and he felt a twinge of guilt that he couldn't quite agree with her. “It’s not that I don’t want you to learn, it’s just that I want to make sure that you’re safe. There’s so many things that can go wrong when first learning magic. There’s all sorts of accidents and injuries, and with your power… I’m just worried. I don't want you to get hurt.”

 

In truth, he didn't know what he wanted, to start now or to start later. Both had good points to them, and bad. Though his heart leapt at the chance to learn magic, the idea made him equal parts excited and uneasy. He knew it wouldn't be that simple. It was smart to be prudent, to go slow. 

 

Credence allowed himself to move his hand a little further under hers, until it was almost entirely covered. “I understand.”

 

Tina sighed, clearly not entirely at ease. But a moment later her cool hand gave his a quick, reassuring squeeze, and he knew at the very least she would try to help him as much as she could.

 

At that moment, Newt burst back into the kitchen with his arms full of tattered, leather-backed books, disrupting the slight calm. With a grunt, he dropped the books on the table between his and Credence’s seat, the spine of one book only narrowly escaping falling full-on into his teacup.

 

Tina eyed the battered books with a little trepidation. “I'm still not saying that I agree with this, but. Do you  _really_ thinkwe’re qualified to teach him? None of us has ever done it before.”

 

Credence surreptitiously leaned closer to read the spidery, silver-embossed title on the nearest book.

 

_Advanced Potion Making for the School-Aged Wizard, Vol. 5 by Sibilius Sevilius_

 

“I think it’ll be alright. Honestly,” Newt said. “My parents taught me loads of spells at home and it worked out alright for me. There was the odd spell misfire or two, but both my brother and I managed to make it to adulthood with all of our fingers and toes.” He began to dig through the haphazard pile of books, then paused. He narrowed his eyes. “Well, most of them.”

 

He continued his search through the pile, sending books toppling. Queenie snatched up one right before it fell into the serving dish and turned it over to look at it curiously.

 

Tina’s stricken expression clearly stated that she thought that this was not exactly the best endorsement of the plan. “If, and I do mean _if_ , we’re going to teach him, don’t you at least think it would be better to start him off using one of our wands, before he gets his own?”

 

Newt looked up, holding a red linen-covered book that looked particularly beat up.

 

“The best channel of magic is your wand,” he said as he distractedly handed the book over to Credence, who took it, surprised. “The more personal the wand, the better the control. In this particular case, best not make anything more complicated than it needs to be, d’you agree?”

 

Tina replied, still unconvinced, but all of Credence’s focus had centered down on the book in his hands. _A Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ was embossed on the front in faded gold letters. An unexpected thought reminded him of Mary Lou. The information inside would have made her burn in anger, her voice hard as steel as she reprimanded him for even thinking of opening it, for even touching it, for seeing it and not destroying it immediately.

 

 _Witches and wizards are real, and they need to be destroyed! God does not want them here, unnaturally manipulating the creations of God and corrupting the minds of children!_ he could almost hear her voice, an echo of sermons so often repeated, and his stomach clenched in that familiar dread.

 

 _She was right about wizards existing at least,_ he thought with the slightest sense of irony. _If she saw me holding a book like this..._

 

He forced the thought away with a grim smile. She wasn’t here. She couldn’t see him, not anymore. And even if she could, he thought as he defiantly flipped opened the front cover of the book, he didn’t care. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears as he turned through the well-worn pages to the table of contents.

 

_Chapter One: Is there only one way to wave a wand?… Chapter Three: Reparo and its uses… Chapter Seven: Locking and Unlocking spells…_

 

The list went on and on and Credence stared at it in wonder, a sharp sense of longing in his chest. This could all be his, one day. 

 

A moment later he was pulled from his thoughts by Tina and Newt’s ongoing debate.

 

“But you’re not his guardian, Newt, you can’t just _decide_ that,” Tina said.

 

Newt fell silent, looking somewhat taken aback.

 

Immediately, Tina seemed aware of what she had said and regret made her cheeks burn pink. Just as she opened her mouth to continue, Newt replied, nonplussed, “Well, neither are you.”

 

It was Tina’s turn to look somewhat taken aback. Her cheeks flushed further and her eyes darted away. She couldn’t seem to find a reply to that. The two just stared at anything but one another, the room full with the silence that followed. 

 

“Credence,” a quiet voice said, and he looked up to see Queenie regarding him curiously. “Do you want a wand?”

 

Newt and Tina broke their mutual avoidance of each other and looked at him.

 

The question surprised him; he hadn't thought it much mattered what he wanted. For a moment, Credence felt as though her blue eyes seemed to see straight through him. And though he didn’t reply aloud, he felt, as he sometimes did with Queenie, that she understood what he wanted to say better than he did.

 

“So you do,” she said with a broad smile, and the encouragement in her tone made him nod in agreement.

 

It hadn't been clear before, but now it seemed rather obvious what he wanted. Even though it was dangerous, even though it might hurt him... Credence straightened minutely, trying to appear sure as he felt. “Yes. I want a wand.”

 

Tina looked even more worried, and Newt's face was blank, but Queenie brightened. “Alright, honey, then we should get you one. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on this chapter for literally 3 to 4 months now, and I just want to thank anyone still reading this that I appreciate your patience! You have all been so lovely to me and this fic and honestly, thank you. <3
> 
> I have actually 2 or 3 more chapters written out, it's just a matter of arrangement and refinement and getting all the plot points in order so... they'll be out soon!


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